


Young Kings

by ghost_gang, ookaookaooka



Series: (Fairy) Tales to Astonish [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Complete, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_gang/pseuds/ghost_gang, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ookaookaooka/pseuds/ookaookaooka
Summary: Steve can’t remember a time in which he wasn’t surrounded by dragons. When he was just a child, he remembers watching them fly overhead on royal missions, seeing them drinking from the vast lake just outside his village. He remembers clutching to his mother’s leg as he watched them fly overhead, taking their riders to far-off places, on missions or just for the thrill of flying.And when he goes to basic training to become a Royal Guardsman, he finally gets to live out his dream. He doesn't care if he's small, he doesn't care if his asthma or whatever else gets in the way - he just wishes that Prince James would stop tormenting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> working title was "halcyon," named after a song of the same name by the paper kites. it's a cute as fuck song and you guys should check it out. but then i learned that there's a popular work within the fandom named "halcyon days" so i figured not to fuck with that. so i tried really hard to think of something cool and catchy and nice like that and came up with shit. so this is what happened instead
> 
> Also this work is a lot longer than I originally intended so I had to break it up into chapters. Expect regular updates!
> 
> Ookaookaooka drew that amazing fanart that inspired this fic! Leave her wonderful comments below :)

 

####  _STEVE_

Steve can’t remember a time in which he wasn’t surrounded by dragons. When he was just a child, he remembers watching them fly overhead on royal missions, seeing them drinking water from the vast lake just outside the village.

When he was barely more than a toddler, he remembers clutching to his mother’s leg as he watched dragons fly overhead, taking their riders to far-off places, on missions or just for leisure, for the thrill of flying.

As a teenager, he pined for the freedom that would undoubtedly come with the ability of flight; he wished to leave his life behind, to explore new places and see amazing sights, if only for the experience.

He’s almost twenty-one years old now, and still he feels like a child—unsure and afraid to face the world without the sure hand of a parent to guide him. His mother is all he’s ever had in this world, and he’s not sure that she’ll survive while he’s gone. He’s hoping against hope that she’ll live to see him return from his training with the Royal Guard. Perhaps she’ll see him return, this time with his own dragon.

He has always been drawn to them, to their beauty and their awe-inspiring strength. What’s more is that he has always wished to serve his country; he can’t wait to train, to become strong. To be a member of the elite Royal Guard and protect his country has always been his dream, and now he finally has the chance to do it.

But his mother is sick, which makes things significantly more difficult.

As Steve packs for his two-, maybe three-day journey, he wonders what training will bring. Steve has never been the largest, strongest, biggest man. In fact, he is quite small. He has spent a great deal of his life trudging through illness after illness, his mother worrying whether or not he’ll make it to the other side.

She is a Healer, a very skilled one at that, and she has helped him when it seemed that there was no one who could save him. Steve owes her his life. Now that she is sick, and getting worse, Steve plans on paying for the best treatment possible. The Royal Guard pays very well, and Steve has faith that he can get in.

They’ve got a plan—Steve will train while his mother remains behind and is tended to by a doctor, Bruce Banner. Dr. Banner will keep her well so that Steve can make money to pay off the debts they will owe, but… if Steve’s being honest, he’s afraid. He doesn’t want this to be his last time seeing her, and he fears that it might be.

He finishes packing his clothes and food and shoulders his bag, making his way out of his small attic room, downstairs. His mother is waiting for him outside, where she will see him off, while Bruce Banner is in their small kitchen, heating up a pot of water to make some tea.

Dr. Banner turns when he hears Steve bound down the stairs, offering Steve a small smile.

“Are you off?” he asks.

Steve smiles and nods. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’m thought it would be best to leave now if I wanted to make it to the Carters’ house before dark.

Bruce nods. “Smart move.”

There’s a lapse of silence, and Steve is about to open his mouth when Dr. Banner speaks first.

“Steve, I know you’re worried, but she is much stronger than you think. She’s going to make it,” he tells him gently.

Steve nods wordlessly. “I know,” he says. “I know that, but there’s just some part of me that still worries.”

Bruce gives him a kind smile and lays a hand down on his shoulder. “Go,” he says. “Go and train at the castle. You’re still young, you need to get out of this house and stop worrying. Leave that till you’re older.”

Steve smiles at him and laughs a little. “Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “If you insist.”

He walks out of the front door and spots his mother standing with her back to him.

He is afraid to go, but Sarah Rogers just chuckles with amusement at his reluctance. They are standing on the front stoop of their little cottage, overlooking the rolling hills and vast horizon.

“I could stay here with you,” he offers yet again. “I could find a job in town.”

But she just tuts in amusement, flicks his bangs out of his eyes. “I’ve told you, Steven. I’ll be fine here. I still think that hiring Bruce was a little over-the-top.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ma,” he complains.

But she just gives him a look, and he quiets immediately. Her expression softens after a moment.

“If you don’t leave now, I fear you never will,” she says gently. “This is your chance to become what you’ve always wanted to be. Don’t let me hold you back.”

And as much as he hates to admit it, she’s right. If Steve doesn’t take this opportunity, he may never get a chance to leave again. He’ll be stuck, constantly paying for bills, held back from becoming anything more than a shop boy.

He hugs her again, trying to fight back his fears. When he releases his hold, he gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before he promises to be back as soon as he can. Then he starts his way on the path towards Peggy’s house, where Steve will meet her there so they can make their way to the castle together. He is grateful that she will be joining him on his journey, as they have been friends since they were children. A familiar face during training will do him good.

“Steven, wait,” his mother calls before he can get more than a few yards away. Steve turns in time to see her rushing from the house, and Steve feels a little bolt of fear.

“Ma,” he says disapprovingly. “You don’t have to run to me.”

“I am capable of walking,” she grumbles, with a roll of her eyes. Steve tries and fails to fight back a smile.

She reaches around her neck and undoes the clasp of the necklace that she has donned nearly every day that Steve can remember. Realizing her intentions, he starts to say, “Ma, I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” she interrupts. She finishes with the necklace and takes Steve’s hand, dropping the necklace into his palm. “Just so you won’t forget to think about me.”

He can’t help it—a few tears spring into his eyes. He smiles at her, trying to hide his emotion, but she just tsks and takes him in for another hug.

“You’re so dramatic,” she says fondly (and, Steve thinks, a little sadly).

“I am not,” he grouses, but she just chuckles and gives him a pat on the cheek. Steve sees the Healer emerge from the house, looking to see what is keeping his patient, waiting for her to return inside.

Steve tells her goodbye one more time, and reiterates that he must get on his way. He almost offers to stay one last time, but in the end decides against it. He says goodbye again, and starts to trudge down the road. It’s going to take nearly all day to reach Peggy’s house.

 

Throughout his journey, Steve clutches the little charm around his neck, running his thumb over the heart-shaped surface, feeling the little divots in its surface where there are words, painstakingly inscribed:  
 

 _To Sarah_  
_All my love, Joseph_  
 

It’s one of the only things they have left of his father. Many of his possessions they had to sell to cover funeral costs.

The walk to Peggy’s is a wonderful journey, one that he likes to make often. His trek is mostly downhill, and he has the privilege of walking through the Sunflower Fields just two miles from his home—a sweeping expanse of wild flora, completely covering the rolling hills for almost two miles.

He stops briefly at a stream to drink, the rushing water cooling the air. He drops to his knees in the damp soil, his feet rejoicing at the opportunity of rest.

Steve dunks his hands into the water, fingers curled to make a cup, and brings them up to his mouth to drink. His dry tongue immediately feels relief, and he drinks and drinks until he’s full. He can feel the water sloshing around in his stomach, and the thought makes him smile, just a little.

He stares at himself in the reflection of the water. Steve rarely gets a chance to look at himself—they have no mirror at home, no running water. Steve makes trips to the well to gather water, but it’s so dark that he can hardly see to the bottom.

Looking at his reflection, he can hardly recognize himself. It’s been quite a while since he’s seen himself. His hair is blond, long enough to sweep over his forehead in a golden wave. It has darkened since winter came while his skin has seemed to paled from “light” to “fair.” He’s so pale that he’s almost translucent—the veins under his eyes are a bold purple, and his skin is already starting to redden where it’s been exposed to the sun. The freckles on his nose stand out just slightly against the angry red of his face. His nose, he thinks, is too large for his face. It’s long, and hooked downwards slightly. He has never really liked it all that much.

Soon enough, he appreciates that they were never rich enough to afford a mirror. The long he stares, the more imperfections he finds. His face is skinny and pale as the rest of him. His cheeks are sallow, his cheekbones too defined, and his chin is sharp, but not in a way that anyone would appreciate. His eyes are too light of a blue, pale just like the rest of him.

He dunks his hands in the water, breaking his reflection into a thousand tiny fragments, and takes one last drink.

He fills his canteen with water and is on his way. He only has a little ways to go, and he can follow the river most of the way there.

 

Steve makes it to Peggy’s house just before nightfall, which is good — he didn’t want to have to sleep on the road or be forced to find some sort of shelter, as highwaymen frequent the area at night. Steve has little to offer besides the necklace his mother just gave him, which is made of pure—if a little tarnished—silver.

He taps on the door, taking a second to admire the sweeping lines of the countryside — the grass is green with the emerging spring. The mountains roll gracefully towards the horizon, dotted red with wild poppies, smoothing into hills in the distance before flattening into a vast plain.

There, on the plains, is where the kingdom’s center is—the royal castle.

The door opens a second later, and Peggy’s kind, smiling face comes into view.

“Took you long enough,” she says, a smile spreading across her face. She ushers him inside, which Steve is grateful for. He collapses nearly immediately into a chair, taking a break from standing and walking.

Peggy’s house is one of Steve’s favorite places in the world. It’s much like Steve’s own house, except that she is the only one who lives her, so there’s much more space for her. A squat couch sits in front of the fireplace, and a small dining table takes up a corner near the window. A small kitchen of sorts is off to Steve’s left, and past the fireplace is ladder to the attic floor, where Peggy’s bedroom is.

A cauldron bubbles over the fire, stirring itself with a spoon that Peggy’s enchanted. The girl in question is very in touch with her magical abilities for the average human. She can perform basic spells—nothing too major, but Steve is sure that she could be a proper witch if she really wanted to.

“How was the journey here?” Peggy asks, leaning down to look at the cauldron. She grabs the spoon that’s been stirring the concoction in the pot and moves it to the side a bit to get an idea of what the stew inside looks like now.

“It was fine,” Steve says. “It’s damn hot outside, though.”

Peggy scoffs. “You’ve got that right. I’m lucky that I’ve got some cold water or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

The two talk for a while as Peggy finishes the stew, finally scooping out two bowls to eat. Steve sits forward in his chair, quite interested in the idea of eating. He’d had food packed for his journey here, but wanted to make it last until they got to the training grounds, so he’s only eaten an apple to tide him over until he got to Peggy’s. He’s absolutely starving.

Peggy hands him a bowl and a spoon, and Steve digs in before Peggy has even sat down, his mouth watering at the smell of it. It’s quite a wonderful beef stew—a nice, thick broth, with potatoes, carrots, celery and onions.

Peggy smiles when she sees Steve devouring the food and politely adds that there’s definitely a lot to go around. Steve downright moans at the prospect, making Peggy chuckle.

After two and a half bowls and a few slices of bread that Peggy remembered she had, Steve is well and truly full.

The pair make conversation for a little bit, mostly commenting on what they think training will be like, and who their instructors will be. Some instructors, Steve knows, are better than others, and they have gained some popularity with the general public.

“I hear the Prince is going to be training with us this year,” Peggy says.

Steve stares at her. “I thought that was just a rumor,” he replies.

She shrugs. “Maybe so. But he has just turned twenty-one, hasn’t he? And the idea is fascinating. You could get yourself a husband,” she adds with a wink.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Like he would ever look my way. Besides, you know the Prince has to marry someone of royal blood.”

Peggy scoffs. “They don’t _have_ to. It’s just tradition.”

“Yes, a very ingrained tradition, that’s frowned upon if you don’t actually follow through, so much so that he could be kicked out of the kingdom if he doesn’t do it.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, rolling her eyes. But she’s smiling fondly.

They talk some more for a little while, before the fatigue of today’s walk and the warmth of the food in his stomach start to lull Steve to sleep. He stands in his chair, telling Peggy that he’s going to turn in, and starts to make his way towards the couch.

Before he can get too far, however, she grabs his hand and says, “Nuh-uh. You’re sleeping upstairs.”

Steve starts to protest until Peggy gives him a Look. “Don’t even try to say no, Steve. Your back will be killing you tomorrow if you don’t sleep on a proper bed.”

Steve wants to point out that he hasn’t slept on a proper bed in years already, because his bed at home is little more than old sacks stuffed with dried grass and feathers, but he keeps his mouth shut as Peggy guides him to the ladder that leads to the attic bedroom.

“Rest up,” she says fondly, smiling and patting him on the cheek lightly. “We leave bright and early, tomorrow morning.”

Steve smiles back and nods, turning to climb the ladder. He is feeling rather sleepy after eating such a filling dinner, and Peggy’s house is pleasantly warm rather than overly hot or unseasonably cold, and Steve can feel his limbs growing heavy as he makes his way to the last rung on the ladder before hoisting himself up onto the floor.

The bed isn’t much, but it’s a bed, and Steve is rather grateful that he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch, even if it does make him feel a little bad that Peggy is sleeping down there. However, looking at the bed, he’s not sure the two of them would fit. He’s not sure how Peggy—who is much taller and a little bit broader than Steve—manages to fit on this bed, seeing as it’s the perfect size for Steve in all his scrawny, 5-foot-4-inch glory.

He drops his backpack on the floor with a satisfying thump and doesn’t think about anything else. He just drags his feet forward and falls, face-first, onto the bed. He’s asleep just seconds after his head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

####  _BUCKY_

The Prince walks quickly through the garden, taking note of the newly-blooming flowers as he goes. His mother, Queen Winifred, asked for a meeting with him in the gazebo. Bucky knows that she wants to talk to him — or lecture him, more like — about his upcoming training with the Royal Guard. All members of the royal family are required to train with the Royal Guard when they turn twenty-one, and Bucky has finally become of age.

When he makes it to the gazebo, he spots his mother sitting on the wooden bench, accompanied by her dragon, Rhea. Rhea is large enough to nearly encircle the structure itself, but her head still rests next to Winifred, who scratches behind Rhea’s leathery ears. Small tendrils of smoke curl from Rhea’s nose as she huffs in contentment.

Rhea has grown so much from when Bucky was a child — back then, Rhea was a bit longer than five yards, a little less than two yards tall. She was gangly and spry for her frame, but strong, as all dragons are. Now, though, as dragons continually grow until their death, she towers over them at nearly four yards tall and over twelve yards long, head to tail.

Bucky smiles, knowing that soon he will have his own dragon, once he begins his training with the Royal Guard. Rhea perks up when she hears Bucky approaching, making Winifred look up from the book in her lap.

She smiles and stands, brushing off the front of her dress absently.

“Happy birthday, my son,” she says, reaching forward to take Bucky’s face in her hands. She kisses his cheek, smiling brightly at him. “How has your day been going?”

“It’s been nice,” he answers. “I’m mostly looking forward to my departure,” he admits.

Winifred shakes her head. “Always eager to run headfirst into trouble,” she tuts, which is true, but it makes Bucky frown anyway. “What you should be focused on—”

Bucky groans, knowing where this conversation is going.

“—is finding a spouse. Quit your whining, you know it’s true.”

“Ma, don’t worry about that,” he says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “I’m not going to have any trouble finding someone to marry. I have plenty of suitors!”

Which is also true, he does have plenty of suitors. Bucky is handsome, he knows. He has seen them in the throne room before, has seen them invited to dinners and feasts and holidays, all so that he might take a liking to one of them, get married, have children. He has seen to many he's lost count—sons and daughters from neighboring kingdoms that all want to marry Bucky. The real challenge is choosing which one, something that Bucky doesn’t really want to focus on right now.

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be getting married. It’s a chore that he doesn’t feel like he should have to follow through. Tying himself to someone that he doesn’t know very well, for ever and ever? No, thank you.

But he knows his mother wants him to. So, he’ll get married — but in his own time.

“I know you won’t have a problem,” his mother says, folding her arms together. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” She sighs. “You’re getting too old to be so wild, James.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m going to be fine, _Mother_ ,” he says. She narrows her eyes at him. She knows he only calls her that when he’s trying to be funny. “I need to go pack,” he says, mostly as an excuse to get away from this conversation.

She huffs, but doesn’t protest outright, so Bucky takes that as permission to leave. He pecks his mother on the cheek out of politeness and promises to say goodbye to her when he leaves. Nods and dismisses him.

Making his way back to the castle, he finds Natasha waiting for him just outside the entrance to the garden. Natasha always seems to find him when he’s never told her where he’s gone, and when he needs her most. She both terrifies and amazes Bucky all at once.

“How did it go?” she asks him, falling into step next to him.

Natasha is Bucky personal protection — being several years older than him, she has finished her training with the Royal Guard and was assigned to protect him since he turned eighteen. But she is more than just a guard to him, now — she is his best friend.

Natasha just rolls her eyes at him. “But are you ready to be king?” she presses. “Are you actually ready to have the command of thousands of subjects?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. “Yes,” he says, unwavering. Nothing she says can scare him. He’s grown up knowing this about himself, known that one day he will have to take over for his parents. And while to some people, it may sound scary, but to Bucky, it’s just his birthright.

They enter the castle and begin to ascend the stairs to Bucky’s room—just three flights above the ground floor.

“You’re coming with me to training, right?” Bucky asks as they climb the last flight of stairs.

“Of course,” Natasha says. “I’m going to be Fury’s assistant this year.”

Bucky groans. “You get to boss me around?” he whines.

But Natasha just smiles. “It’s your damn pleasure to have me bossing you around,” she quips. “At least, that way, you know you’re doing it right.”

The Prince rolls his eyes as they reach the top of the stairs and make their way down the hallway. “Like you need your head to get any bigger,” he says.

“You’re one to talk,” she sasses, reaching Bucky’s room first and opening the door for him.

Bucky smiles at her, falsely sweet. “And they say chivalry is dead,” he teases, walking through the opened door.

“I’ll still kick your ass, Barnes.”

Bucky walks into his room and Nat follows soon after. Trying to decide what to pack, he tries to consider the activities they’ll be doing while he’s away at training.

“I don’t know what to pack,” he admits.

Nat looks at him and rolls her eyes again. It seems to be her favorite activity.

“It’s not that hard,” she says. “What else do you have besides silk shirts and diamond-studded pants?”

“I don’t have diamond-studded pants,” he says, pouting. He doesn’t want to mention the silk shirts, though, because he definitely has more than a few of those.

Natasha moves past him to his wardrobe, which is quite large and ornately designed, much like the rest of Bucky’s room. She throws it open and starts rifling through his clothing, picking out the items that she deems worthy, and pushing past the things the doesn’t.

After a few minutes, she takes her armful of clothing and dumps it on the bed, and Bucky is sad to see that she’s picked out the most boring items that he owns — plain canvas trousers, light cotton shirts, leather boots and vests. Also, something he didn’t even remember he had — a scabbard with a sword tucked inside it, a gift from his father before he passed away in the Great War that they had with the kingdom that used to neighbor theirs, before they annexed it, making it a part of their territory.

“You’ll need a different crown,” she muses. “Tradition dictates that you wear something, but this one will get in the way of your work.” She bites her lip, thinking. “I think there’s one around here that will fit you. Let me talk to your mother. Pack and meet me at the carriage, okay? We need to load our things.”

Bucky reaches up to touch the crown on his forehead. It’s not extravagantly large, but it is a struggle to do much work with it—Bucky supposes that’s the point, really.  

“The carriage is leaving at noon,” she reminds him from the door. “Don’t be late, or I’m leaving without you. And get dressed.” She smiles a very sarcastic smile at him and leaves the room.

He looks at his meager pile of clothing and frowns. He doesn’t like this. He wants to train, but for some reason it didn’t occur to him that he would have to be giving up his most precious items while he’s gone — his regal clothes and golden crown.

He bites his lip and reminds himself that it’s only for a month. Then he shucks off his heavy crown and bright white garb and exchanges it for itchy canvas pants, a plain cotton shirt, and boots that have not been broken in yet.

 _Only for a month,_ he tells himself again.

 

He has just started packing when he remembers that he probably shouldn’t pack too many things or Nat will laugh at him. There won’t be much room, anyway, if he’s correct — when Nat describes her training with the Royal Guard, it’s never glamorous. She speaks of shared dormitories with the rest of the trainees, daily chores, half-hearted meal plans and a general disrespect for any form of personal hygiene.

However, Bucky still remains excited. While it may be a step outside of his comfort zone, he knows that he’s going to have the time of his life. He’s going to meet the dragon that while Choose him for the rest of his life, and he’s going to make friends and train to fight like his father and mother did. And then he’s going to come home, marry someone beautiful, and he’ll rule the kingdom until the rest of his days. It’s a solid plan, really.

He packs one large bag of things. He has enough clothes to last him a week, which should be fine. He’ll wash them when they get too dirty. He’s never done that before, but it can’t be too difficult. There’s also a book he’s been wanting to read, a brush, a pair of sturdy gloves, some other things. He thinks that that will be enough. It’s not near the amount of things that he wants to take, but it’ll have to do.

He heads downstairs with his bag in his arms—it’s nearing high noon, if the sun outside his window is anything to go by, and he’s not sure if Nat was kidding when she said they’d leave without him if he wasn’t on time, so he decides that being a little early is better than being a little late.

Just outside the entrance hallway—he can see the front doors swung open wide—the carriage is being readied. Natasha stands out there, her hands on her hips as she instructs the driver on what routes to take, what routes to avoid, to insure Bucky’s safety as they ride towards the training facility. It’s only a day’s drive, but if they somehow get pushed behind schedule, Natasha doesn’t want the risk of highwaymen or angry forest-dwelling creatures, magical or otherwise, on their minds.

Bucky steps outside, his bag cradle in his arms, and blinks at the bright light of the outside. It’s not a second later that a servant is easing the bag away from him so that it can be placed in the carriage, and asking his if he’d _please sit inside, the carriage should be leaving soon, sir_.

Bucky makes his way inside the carriage, sitting on the bench seat. It’s actually quite nice inside, with white, plush seats and golden accents to the interior. Natasha joins him a second later, huffing a sigh. She takes her hair and begins to tie it into a strict-looking braid, not a strand out of place. After a second she digs into the bag at her side.

“Here,” she says, handing him the crown that will replace his regular one for the next two or three months, however long training lasts.

It’s a golden circlet with a single red gem in the middle and a winding, twisting pattern all around its circumference. It’s made of golden wire, adjustable in size and quite beautiful, really. He begins to place it on his head when Natasha tells him that it’s supposed to go around his head, not on top of it. She guides his hands into place and corrects him gently. The circlet fits around his head, gently dipping into his dark hair. The wire is cold and unfamiliar, but quickly warming as it remains in contact with his light skin.

Soon, they’re all packed and ready to go. The driver of the carriage takes his place up front while the two servants close the doors securely in the back and sides of the car. The two horses pulling the carriage snort and whinny in impatience. With a yell from the driver and a lurch of the car, Bucky and Nat are off to the training grounds.

Bucky wishes almost immediately that he’s had the sense to take the book out of his bag before they’d packed it away in back. He’s going to become bored so quickly, and Nat is going to take the brunt of his strange thoughts and weird nervous habits. The drive is going to be a long one—it will at least take all day.

“Are you excited?” Natasha asks as the the car shakes and jostles down the cobblestone path leading from the castle.

Bucky smiles. “Of course,” he says.

“Well, sit back and relax, Your Highness,” she says. Bucky chuckles, knowing she only calls him that when she’s feeling incredibly ironic. “We’ve got a long drive, but I think we’ll make it there before nightfall.”

+++

They do make it to the training grounds before nightfall, just barely.

The moon has just started to rise when the carriage rolls onto the grounds, designated by a small gate and a wrought-iron sign. The grounds are so far away from the town as rogue dragons have been a problem before, and it would be best not to expose the entirety of the Royal Family to that danger.

Bucky steps out of the cabin, and is greeted with a sight just as Natasha described it to him: near barren, dirt streets, squat brick buildings. It’s dusty and in need of a clean, but Bucky feels strangely drawn to the place. It’s nothing like the palace, and he likes the feel of it.

Off in the distance, the beach and the ocean spread before them. The moon is just beginning to rise on the opposite horizon, giving a ghostly, other-worldly glow to the streets. Bucky wants to lie in the sparsely grassy areas that surround the town and stare up at the sky, but Natasha is shaking him, demanding his attention.

“Come on,” she’s saying. “We have to get settled. The carriage driver is going to sleep here tonight and then make his way back to the castle in the morning.”

Bucky nods and goes to grab his luggage. Nat refuses to help him as always, reminding him a breezy tone that he won’t be receiving special treatment here just because he’s the Prince. Nat has always treated him the same way she treats everyone else, and part of Bucky likes that about her, and part of him really wishes that she’d help him with his bag, because it’s heavy and he hasn’t exactly been in the best shape as of recently, considering the winter has just ended and he’s a little soft around the middle.

“Nope,” she reiterates. “Better start working out now. It’s not going to get any easier from here.” She smirks at him and saunters into one of the dormitories, Bucky close behind, hoisting the bag over his shoulder to better carry it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay so I'm queuing up some chapters for you all -- I hope you guys like the story! It's definitely longer than I thought it was going to be, so strap in for the ride! tbh I thought I was going to run out of steam by the 10,000 word mark, but apparently I have a lot to say? Dragons really inspire me I guess

####  _BUCKY_

Bucky soon notices that the training grounds are upsettingly empty, but then learns that he and Natasha had to arrive a few days early in order to prepare things for the arrival of the rest of the trainees. This knowledge upsets him, considering that he knows that he knows he’s going to have several days of boredom before the actual fun begins. He also thinks about how he could be home right now, not here doing nothing as Natasha works on official business.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Bucky asks, pouting just a little. He’s fucking bored without anyone else around, and Natasha is busy all day long, working on lesson plans with the Director, smoothing out details and laying down the ground rules for this year’s session.

“Because I knew you’d complain,” she answers, which is a fair point. Bucky sulks in his room instead.

The dorms are nice, he thinks, but his room is quite cramped, considering he’s used to his room at the castle, which its open floor plan and high ceilings. This room has a dresser, a bed, and a desk. There’s a small nightstand, and most of its tabletop space is taken by a fairly sized gas lamp. The bed lumpy but he tells himself that it’s not that bad. He’s only here for a month, that’s all…

He wanders the room of the males’ dorms. Upon entering, there’s a common room with doors lining three of the walls, each one an entrance into a boy’s individual room. Bucky’s room is right across from the door. He is the first in the alphabet — _Barnes, James_ — right next to someone named Clint Barton. He goes through the names — Luke Cage, Gabriel Jones, Scott Lang, Pietro Maximoff… He wonders how many will actually be here at the end of the training.

But in the meantime, he’s bored. Natasha doesn’t want him to help her because he’s a trainee, and there’s really nothing for him to do all day. He’s finished the one book that he’s brought with him and it’s still days until training starts.

Upon waking up, Bucky decides to wander down to the cliff’s end. In the early morning, the sun is still rising over the sea. The light is fractured over the water, broken by the coming tide and the rocky coast.

He decides to sit at the edge of the cliff, the heights almost giving him vertigo. While the sight is beautiful, he can’t help but think to himself that he wouldn’t be here if Natasha would let him help… He feels surprisingly useless.

While helping isn’t usually his forte, he knows that he can help, but that she must just not want him to. He takes rocks from the edge of the cliff, rolling them over in his palm before throwing them, with all his might, towards the sea. He watches them hurtle through the air and disappear below, becoming too small for him to track with his eyes. He wonders if any of them actually make it to the water, or if they just land on the beach below.

Natasha wonders how he gets himself into trouble, and then lets him be bored. It’s not that difficult to figure out. He would rather do something that would get him in trouble than be left to wrestle through his own thoughts.

He scoots himself back from the edge, resigned to go back to his room and sleep the rest of the day away, because there really isn’t anything else for him to do, when he hears voices from behind. He perks up immediately, thinking one of them might be Nat.

Getting to his feet, he brushes himself off and turns around and sees that Nat isn’t among those who have just arrived — but there are people he hasn’t seen before, and that must mean that there are new trainees that have just come.

 _Oh, thank God_ , he thinks to himself, and fixes his shirtfront before going to greet the people who have just come here.

It’s two boys, chatting amiably among themselves. They’re resting by the well, and don’t seem to notice Bucky until he’s nearly right there next to them.

“Hey,” Bucky greets. The pair of them stop talking and turn to greet Bucky, introducing themselves as Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce.

“Nice,” Bucky says. “I’m James.” He gives them a small smile.

Rumlow looks at the circlet on his head and then back at his face. “Wait, like, the Prince?” Rumlow asks. “Like, the actual Prince.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Yeah, actually.”

Rumlow glances back at his friend and then back to Bucky. “No fucking way.”

The three of them laugh, and Bucky happy to think that perhaps he won’t be so bored anymore.

+++

The three of them spend most of their time together before training starts, which begins the coming Sunday. It’s not long until the Prince tells them to call him “Bucky,” as “James” is something that his mother usually only calls him when he’s in trouble.

The days pass significantly faster with someone to spend them with, and soon it’s only two days before training starts and Bucky is slightly nervous about what is going to happen.

In all honesty, if he fails the training he’ll just be sent back to do it again. That’s never happened to a Royal Family member before, but Bucky might just suspect it’s because they don’t want the public to know that one of their future kings has failed at being a good guard.

It’s early afternoon when Bucky makes his way into the central campus. The Director is there, giving a briefing to the newly arrived, something that Bucky has already heard. He doesn’t see Pierce or Rumlow anywhere and decides to go looking — except, something has caught his eye. Well, someone.

It’s a boy. He can’t be older than nineteen — or, at least, that’s the way he looks. He’s short, probably five-foot-nothing if Bucky had to guess. He doesn’t look strong in any sense of the word; he’s got no meat on his bones, his knees and ankles are knobby, nearly bulbous, and he’s thin enough that he looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over. He darts from the group to the well, where he accidentally drops the bucket when he tries to pull it up for a fresh drink of water.

Despite that, Bucky feels his feet moving towards him before he can even think about what he’s doing, like magnetism, and then he gets a clear look at the boy’s face.

In a sense, he reminds Bucky of a bird. Small and sharp, but beautiful.

His hair is sun-bleached from the journey here, his cheekbones are burned red, but it only stands to accentuate that his eyes are a clear, sparkling blue, like seaglass. Bucky can see them from all the way over here.

* * *

####  _STEVE_

It’s two days on the road with Peggy before they reach the training grounds. They have to pass through the city before passing into a great expanse of wilderness — towards the sea.

There’s a large, confusing forest that separates the city from the training grounds, and Steve really thinks that putting a training ground, in which dragons are likely to escape, next to a _very flammable_ forest, is both the stupidest and the funniest shit he’s ever thought of.

They make it though the forest with surprising ease, just remembering to look at where they’re going and to stay on the path, which sounds simple at first until Steve realizes just how easily distractible he is. Peggy has to pull him back to the dirt road more than one time after he tries to go look at the flora several times and tries to follow a herd of deer deeper into the forest.

Plenty of people have arrived at the campus already—official training doesn’t start for another two days, as everyone needs to show up and get settled. There aren’t too many people, maybe thirty at most. Steve knows that number will dwindle as the weeks go by—not everyone can handle the stress of the training, some people get hurt in the process, and life sometimes just gets in the way for others.

Steve and Peggy arrive to a small group of people surrounding a tall, bald, dark-skinned man wearing an eyepatch. They discretely join the group, standing in the back while the man with the eyepatch talks. They seem to have caught the beginning of his introduction, which calms Steve a little.

“I am Director Fury,” says the man. “I’ll be your instructor. You all can get settled in one of the dormitories over here. Rooms are assigned alphabetically, by last names and separated by sex.” Steve shares a sad look with Peggy, knowing that they won’t be rooming next to each other. “Official training starts in two days. I recommend that you keep your bags packed for the first week here, as only about half of you will finish this program in its entirety.”

Steve and Peggy glance at each other again, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. The odds are grim, he thinks, but Steve knows he can do this, even if others may doubt him. And Peggy, he knows, is tough as nails — she’s not going home unless she wants to.

Fury’s gaze pans across the crowd gathered in front of him, as if he’s scanning the each and every one of their faces. “You will wake up at six AM. Breakfast is every morning at seven, lunch is at twelve, dinner’s at six. Lights out, at the latest, at eleven PM. Anyone who has a problem with that can just know that I don’t give a fuck.”

Steve smirks at the man’s bluntness, trying very hard not to laugh. There’s a groan from someone in the group — a sandy-haired blonde man with a bandage over his nose — which is quickly stifled when Fury gives him a withering look.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Fury says. “Anyone who tells you it will be is a liar, and anyone who finds this too easy can leave, since you’re obviously above us all. Be ready to start training in two days. Be standing outside of your dorm room at six-fifteen AM, sharp. If you’re late, don’t expect to be here much longer.

The first thing Steve does, after Fury’s speech is over, is make a beeline for the well that is located in the center of the training grounds. He ran out of water about two hours ago, and his mouth is beyond parched.

He reaches the well, relieved that there’s no one else around it, and grabs the rope to the bucket. He lowers the bucket down the well, probably too quickly, until he feels it splash into the water below. Then he pulls it back up, but it’s significantly heavier now, and his arms are noodly from lack of water, and he was never that strong anyway… The bucket drops back into the well, and Steve huffs, frustrated. He tries again, his hands tight around the rope, probably giving himself some sort of friction burn in the process.

“Whoa,” a voice says. “You alright there?”

Steve looks up, ready to make a sarcastic comment, but stops short when he sees who’s talking to him.

It’s a boy — well, a man, really, but he’s young. He’s young and he has gray eyes and a bright smile and — and a _crown_ on his head.

It takes him a second to find his words. “I don’t know, probably not,” Steve answers, eventually.

The boy — no, the fucking Prince — smiles, and nods towards the well. “Need some help?” he offers.

His first reaction is to prickle with indignation, but pushes the feeling away. Peggy has lectured him on this already — _respectfulness_ . Just because he’s offering help doesn’t mean that he’s implying you’re weak or incapable. So instead, Steve looks him up and down and says, “I’m good, thanks,” and reaches towards the pulley, bringing the bucket of water up from the bottom of the well, now that he had basically _has_ to, given that he has an audience—the other option would be to risk being humiliated in front of royalty, which he doesn’t like very much.

Finally, he gets the bucket up to the ledge of the well and rests it there, water sloshing down the sides. Steve cups his hands beneath the water and brings it up to his mouth to drink, and that’s when he notices the Prince is still there.

He looks at the Prince and wonders why he hasn’t left yet. “Want some?” he offers politely, not knowing what other reason the man would be sticking around for.

The Prince shrugs and does the same as Steve, bringing the water up to his mouth to drink with his hands.

“My name is Steve,” he says, offering out a hand for the Prince to shake, and then he notices too late how dirty and grubby it must be, but stands firm.

“James,” the Prince says, taking his hand. He smirks at Steve, and Steve doesn’t really know how to take that expression. They shake once and Steve nods politely, trying not to blush at the Prince’s easy smiles and heavy gaze.

“What’s your last name?” the Prince asks.

Steve’s eyebrows pull together as he retracts his hand from James’ grip. “Rogers,” he says, a little warily.

The Prince smiles a little. “Rogers? I think you’re across the hall from me. In the dorm.”

“Oh,” Steve says, blushing a little. “That’s cool.”

“Hey, Barnes!” a voice calls behind the pair. Steve almost jumps at the sound, surprised and a little annoyed at the interruption. Steve turns to see two boys, one with dark hair, deeply-tanned skin and a severely square jaw, another with a shock of red hair and his hands stuffed in his pockets. Steve thinks that it must be the dark-haired boy who spoke.

James waves at the pair that called his name, and gives Steve a quick smile before saying, “Well, I’ll see you around.” He leaves without waiting to hear Steve’s reply, jogging to catch up with his friends.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, feeling his entire being deflate. He thinks back to himself, worried that he said something wrong or disrespectful, or even downright humiliating. Before he can analyze too much, a hand encircles his upper arm, bringing his attention away from his head and into the present moment.

“Wow,” Peggy says, squeezing his arm. “That was the Prince?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, still staring at the boy as he makes off with the two guys who called after him.

“What did he say?” she asks him.

“He asked if I wanted any help getting the water.”

Peggy gasps. “And you didn’t tear his head off? I’m impressed, Steve,” she teases.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters. “I can be civil.”

“So can wars,” she says, which would have been a fantastic comeback if Steve were actually focused on the conversation that was taking place right now, instead of on the one that he just had with the Prince a few moments ago.

Peggy rolls her eyes at Steve’s unresponsiveness and decides to pull him to the dormitories.

“Come on, let’s go,” she says, with a long-suffering sigh.

Peggy takes them to the dormitories, which is basically just a building separated into two wings — one wing for the females’ rooms, and one for the males’. Steve goes towards his wing of the dorm, making sure his bag is securely over his shoulder, and goes to find his room.

When he enters the common room, it’s not quite crowded. There are a few people lounging around on chairs and couches, lazing around or goofing off. No one seems to notice his arrival, so he gets busy figuring out which room belongs to him.

He goes through the names — Barnes, Barton — and then skips a few, knowing that he’ll probably be more towards the middle or the end. However, when he gets to where his name should be, it’s not there — He should be before James Rhodes, but finds that his name has been replaced by someone named “Anthony Stark.”

Confused, he looks around, wondering where his name could be, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Steven Rogers?” the someone asks — a friendly-looking guy with dark hair in a buzzcut and a slight gap in his front teeth.

“Just Steve,” he answers. Steve nods nervously, but the guy just smiles.

“Don’t worry, Just Steve,” he teases. “Your room has been moved over a little. You’re next to me, come here.”

The guy puts his hand on Steve’s upper arm, gently pulling him towards the names at the end of the alphabet. His dark skin greatly contrasts against Steve’s, which is slightly red from the sun, and much more freckled where it isn’t burned.

The pair stop in front of the second-to-last door, where “Rogers, Steven,” is written on a piece of paper and stuck to the door.

“Yeah, Tony made an executive decision to switch your room with his,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “He wanted to be next to his friend Rhodey, and your room was next to his.”

Steve cracks a smile. “I guess that’s fine,” Steve says. “Which room is yours?”

He points to the very last room. “Wilson, Samuel,” he says jokingly, referring to his door’s nametag. “That’s me.” He turns to face Steve properly and offer up his hand to shake. “But you can call me Sam.”

Steve decides that he likes this guy, and returns the handshake. “I guess you already know my name,” he says.

“I wouldn’t forget you, Just Steve,” he says, smiling. “You need any help unpacking?”

Steve shifts the bag over his shoulder and glances at it. “Nah, there’s barely anything in here. Thanks, though.”

“Anytime,” he says, taking that as his cue to leave. He turns from Steve and goes back to the commotion in the common room — it looks like someone has started a game of some sort, and Steve quickly decides that he doesn’t want to be involved.

He goes to his room instead, opening the door and taking in his surroundings. It’s small, yeah, but Steve thinks he likes it — it’s cozy and plain, nothing over the top or unnecessary.

Dropping his bag on the cot that occupies about forty percent of the room, he starts to unpack—taking out his spare clothing, an extra pair of boots, and an uneaten apple that he saved for the journey here. It’s a little bruised, but he takes a bite out of it anyway. It crunches pleasantly in his mouth as he chews.

He folds his extra clothes and puts them into the drawer provided, where he finds that there are other things inside already — tall, lace-up boots folded into a roll, flame-resistant vests, heavy gloves… Steve suspects that he’ll need those when he gets his dragon.

Most people are excited over the idea of getting their dragons, which Steve know won’t happen for at least a few weeks, as the Director is probably hoping that the numbers in attendance will dwindle until they get their most devoted members. Having a dragon is a large responsibility, one that only goes to those who are deemed mature enough to handle one… Steve worries that he won’t get one, that the Director or whoever will deem him unworthy of one.

Steve knows that it’s also not so easy to get a dragon. First, the dragon must choose its rider — not the other way around. There’s a chance that Steve may not even be chosen at all, which scares him. It’s like the universe telling him, “Give up on your dreams already, asshole.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he decides not to dwell on it — he has to make it past the first few weeks before they even worry about that. For now, though, he thinks that he deserves a rest before he has to face the rest of the trainees and their judgemental gazes when he sees them all at dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

####  _STEVE_

After two days, training begins. Steve spends most of his time in his room or with Peggy, wandering the grounds. He hates the looks that other people give him, and he can tell Peggy is tired of holding him back by the collar when someone pisses him off, so he decides to just be by himself, where the number of people to piss him off drops to one.

But on the morning of the first day of training, Steve is up early and dressed in his gear before he needs to be. His nerves kept him up the night before and woke him up early in the morning, so he’s slightly groggy when he goes to stand outside of his dorm room and wait by the door for roll call.

Surprisingly, he’s not the first one out of his room, the first to emerge being James Rhodes. He stands with his back straight and eyes forward, feet together. Unconsciously, Steve starts to copy his stance, and feels much more relaxed, even if he looks tense.

After him, people start coming out of their rooms at an increasing rate. Sam emerges soon after Steve, looking well-rested despite the fact that Steve _knows_ he went to bed late, as he could hear Sam clattering around in his room near midnight. Sam gives Steve a little wave, which makes Steve smile in return, but they make no small talk as they settle back into position.

After Sam, Rumlow and Pierce appear next in quick succession, followed by Luke Cage. Steve is small and fragile, and Luke Cage is his antithesis—tall, broad, muscular and strong. While there are many people in this program that are strong, Luke’s general largeness sets him apart from the rest, and Steve knows that Luke will almost definitely be one of the finalists for the Royal Guard.

The rest of the boys all start to stand outside their rooms, the Prince being one of the last to leave his room before roll call. He gives Steve a little smirk and a wink that makes Steve blush and look away. When he finally gets the courage to make eye-contact again, James isn’t even paying attention. At six o’clock exactly, the last boy — Clint Barton — bursts out of his room just as Fury walks in. Fury gives him a strange look, but Clint barely seems to notice as Fury starts making his rooms, noticing everyone who’s there. Since Clint wasn’t technically late, there’s nothing that anyone can really say about it.

Everyone seems to be present, meaning no one is going to be eliminated based on tardiness. Steve feels relieved and tense at the same time.

Fury takes note of everyone there and then leads them to where they can get their breakfast—which is just an outside pavilion of sorts with tables set up under a canopy. The girls are already out there, the other leader — Natasha — having taken roll already. They’re served a hot, watery vegetable broth for breakfast with a bread roll. Steve finds Peggy and they sit together, eating in silence. Steve eats as much as he can, knowing that today is going to be a very long day.  
  


It turns out kind of like Steve expected it to.

The day is hot, the late-spring sun beating down on their backs in a none-too-kindly way. It’s the kind of heat that burns through the humidity and burrows under the skin, the kind of heat that climbs inside you and warms every part of you until you feel tacky and dry. No matter how many times Steve dunks his hands into the well, he feels dusty and dirty, unable to get clean or cool.

His asthma isn’t too bad, but running is quite awful on his lungs either way, and he falls to the back of the pack easily when Fury has them do laps. His muscles are weak and he gets dizzy sometimes, but he knows that he can power through it and keep going. He just has to focus.

Peggy makes him drink water whenever they have a free moment, and Steve thanks her for it, but still acts prickly towards her, feeling babied and helpless.

He isn’t strong, he knows that. He has other strengths than just the physical, and that’s what he is here to prove. But, for the first time, he wonders if that’s enough.

Steve decides that it must be, because if they hadn’t wanted him here, he would be gone already.

He starts to make his way back to his dorm room, sore and tired, knowing that he has to get up bright and early to do it all again tomorrow.

Steve enters the common room, ready to collapse. There’s a tiredness that has settled into his very being, a deep exhaustion that refuses to quit, a quiet ache that spreads from the marrow in his bones to the topmost layer of his skin. He’s just about to go to his room to sleep for ten hours straight when someone calls him back.

“Hey, Rogers,” the someone says. Steve turns to see it’s Rumlow, just hanging around outside of his room, right next to Steve’s.

Steve recognizes the look in Rumlow’s eyes immediately — the eyes of someone who ready to start a fight, to snarl and bite just because he can. There’s malice in those eyes, pure and angry, directed right at Steve.

“How was training today?” he asks him, and Steve knows right away that he’s making fun of him.

“Pretty easy, actually. Why?” Steve asks, the words rolling off his tongue before he can stop them.

“You sure?” Brock asked, and then gets to the point: “Because I don’t really think that you’re going to be able to handle it for much longer.”

Someone enters the room but Steve pays no notice. He just keeps his focus on Rumlow, narrowing his eyes.

“I can handle this just fine,” Steve says, and he squares his shoulders, can feel his fingers curling unconsciously into a fist, gearing up for a fight that he most definitely will lose. “I could do this all day.”

A hand on Steve’s shoulder pulls him backwards, away from Rumlow.

“Hey, fuck off, Rumlow,” Sam barks. Steve feels a prickle of annoyance unfolding in his stomach. “He has just as much right to be here as you. If they didn’t want him, they would’ve sent him packing already.”

“Cute,” Rumlow spits. “Rogers has a knight to fight for him.”

“Sam,” Steve warns, and Sam shares a look with him before stepping back. He turns back to Rumlow and gives him a withering look.

“I have skills beyond the physical,” Steve says. “That makes me valuable. There are twenty-eight other people here who are just as strong, if not stronger, than you. There are twenty-eight other people here who can run just as fast, shoot just as well—which just means there are twenty-eight other people here who can replace you. You aren’t special. Don’t celebrate that about yourself.”

And with that, Steve steps back and tries very hard to relax the muscles in his hand so they aren’t clenched so tight. He turns and goes to his room, ready to lock himself inside for the night, and wishing so goddamn hard that he actually believed a word he just said.

His cot welcomes him back with a loving embrace when he goes to flop down into it, sighing in relief to finally be off his feet.

While he doesn’t care about Rumlow, or even think that he is right, he knows that there are people who don’t think he belongs here, that don’t want him here, that see him as an easy target. He has to prove to not only the leaders that he deserves a position, but to his future teammates as well… The thought makes him groan.

It’ll be difficult, but not impossible, he thinks. Just _tedious_ —more trouble than necessary. He hefts a large sigh and kicks off his shoes, so bone-tired that he knows that he won’t have the strength to get up and change into his nightclothes before he dozes off. He just hopes that he has the sense to wake up for dinner in an hour.  
 

The next few days of training are better and worse than the first.

Better, because Steve is starting to get used to the routine of it all. It’s difficult, still, but he thinks that his body is starting to get with the program. He gains some muscle — with extreme difficulty, that is — and learns to pace himself when it comes to running, and knows when to stop or slow down. And while he’s still at the back of the pack, it’s really not that big of a deal to him anymore.

And worse, because of Pierce and Rumlow. And, a little, because of the Prince.

Pierce and Rumlow seem to think it’s hilarious to torture Steve, because they make every challenge even worse in some way—kick dirt at him when he’s running, trip him when they do jumping jacks, knock down the wire when they did their barbed-wire crawls. The Prince stays decidedly out of it, but Steve doesn’t see him trying to stop it. A rock drops in Steve’s stomach when he makes eye contact with James only to see him quickly turn away.

But then it makes him angry, too. The Prince came up to Steve that day—they talked amiably enough, they smiled at each other, and Steve is fairly sure that he was flirting with him, too—and suddenly he can’t even look at him. He wants to give James the benefit of the doubt, but it’s difficult when his best two friends on the training grounds are his tormentors.

It makes him feel incredibly isolated.

Peggy is caught up in her own training, and Steve feels her slipping away from him. They’re separated more often than not, and she is getting along fine with the other girls that she rooms with. Steve can’t blame her for wanting to spend time with her new friends, especially when Steve has been so moody as of late. The teasing is getting to him, and he’s trying so hard not to lash out and become violent, because that would most likely get him disqualified from the training program. But it’s like keeping a lid on a boiling kettle—something is bound to spill out.

And while he thought that the Prince and he could have been good friends, that prospect seems to slip further and further away every time Pierce and Rumlow do something to fuck with Steve. If not for Sam’s unending confidence and well-timed humor, Steve wouldn’t even be here anymore.

Steve is left on his own, a planet with no star to orbit, no vote of confidence to help his self-worth, no person to stand in his corner, and everyone seems to be better than him in nearly every way.

Jessica Jones, easily the strongest and most sarcastic of the trainees, could literally crack his spine with the flick of her wrist. Brock is cunning and sly, like a spy should be. Peggy is smart and good with weapons, and often uses the way people underestimate her to her own advantage. Luke Cage is built like a tank, unbreakable and untouchable. Even the Prince seems to have an affinity for long-distance shots and unending patience when it comes to his target. And Steve, what can he do?

His hearing is going in one ear. He can’t fight worth a damn and can’t defend himself either. What good is he if he can’t even protect himself? The only thing he seems to be good at is getting punched. That, and getting back up.

In a fit of frustration, Steve kicks his cot in a surprising show of strength, letting out a growl of anger in the process.

In his room that night, feeling awfully alone, Steve decides that if no one is going to help him, then only he can help himself. Since he is a planet with no star to orbit, then he, himself, will become the star.

* * *

####  _BUCKY_

Bucky learns, a little too late, that Pierce is the son of a well-known lord in the kingdom.

If Bucky didn’t take that for a sign from the universe, he’d be an idiot.

He knows that he’s supposed to marry nobility. Marrying the son of a lord is quite acceptable. In fact, it would be encouraged — to marry someone from within the kingdom would be a love story that the public would eat up from the palm of their proverbial hand. It’s just, when he saw Steve, he kinda forgot for a while, that he’s supposed to marry nobility…

Steve is a fantastic person, someone that he admires a good amount. He’s just not allowed to fall in love with him, though.

Not that Steve doesn’t make it difficult, with his shy, bashful smiles and his honey-blond hair. With the way he always rushes to help anyone who’s fallen down, even if it was his own opponent. With his voice that’s too deep for his body. With the way he keeps going, even when there are people who want to stand in his way, break his spirit… The way that he won’t let them.

Okay. Maybe Bucky does a little bit more than _admire_ Steve.

But he knows that Steve is forbidden—nothing can come of his relationship with Steve other than friendship. Hell, he shouldn’t even look at Steve. If Bucky is going to be looking for someone to marry around here, Pierce is the blatantly correct choice. His mother would love to hear that he wishes to marry Alexander Pierce.

It’s just—Pierce is _unbearable_.

Pierce is attractive, admittedly. But he’s arrogant and sure of himself in a way that’s off-putting. He speaks slowly and looks up at people from behind his lashes, and Bucky wants to smack the smirk off his face. Pierce is just flirting and having fun, but it makes a slow, slimy feeling unfurl in Bucky’s stomach. It makes him feel dirty.

Bucky doesn’t even mind his friendship. He radiates a cold power that makes the hairs on Bucky’s arm stand up. He would be a great king, better than Bucky. He would be ruthless, make the hard decisions that no one else can make.

He’ll learn to tolerate Pierce. He _will._ It just might take a while.

 

Bucky is beginning to worry about Steve. The boy has been quite reclusive the past few days, shutting himself in his room when they finish training and only coming out when he must. Bucky can’t help but think that he has something to do with it, considering Pierce and Rumlow have gotten crueler in their actions and Bucky _still_ hasn’t said anything to stop it.

Bucky _wants_ to step in, but his new friends seem hell-bent on doing these things whether he says anything or not, and Bucky doesn’t want to make enemies when they will, perhaps, be protecting him in the future—or, in Pierce’s case, become a prospect for marriage.

Steve can handle it, he thinks. He’s resourceful and clever. He’s sharp and prickly, sometimes, but he warms Bucky’s heart whenever he sees him, whenever he gets the courage to actually talk to him, which isn’t often.

It’s a week into training when Bucky finally gets the courage to go talk to Steve.

He wants to talk to Steve, to let him know that he hasn’t forgotten about him, and that he wants to be friends with him even if Pierce and Rumlow are dicks to him. That it hurts to stand idly by.

It hurts him to do. He stands and does nothing while Steve is mocked and attacked.

And then when he and Steve are forced together to make conversation, Bucky is the one always excusing himself from the exchange to go chase after Pierce and Rumlow, or to go talk to Natasha, or—frankly—anyone other than Steve.

 

He goes to Steve’s room after dinner one night, when most of the boys are winding down for bed, getting ready for the next day. It’s a free day tomorrow — a day when they can do whatever they want, no training. Bucky is excited to finally relax, but he knows that tomorrow is also the day where it’s most likely that a few people will be asked to leave the program, as no one was kicked out during the week. Natasha told him not to worry, but he can’t help but do it anyway.

Standing in front of the door, Bucky takes a deep breath and lifts his hand to knock, giving three, short knocks to the door before dropping his hand back to his side.

He hears a bit of shuffling around before he sees the light move under the door, which means that Steve is actually getting up to answer.

“Just a sec,” Steve says, voice muffled through the door. Bucky feels a spark of doubt for just a second, wondering if he should really go through with this or if he should just leave now before Steve’s answered the door.

But then it’s too late, because Steve _has_ answered the door. A lock clicks and the door is jerked open, and Steve is standing in front of him with his hair slightly disheveled and his nightclothes on, which are a little too big. He looks fucking adorable.

Bucky realizes with a pang that he is well and truly gone for this boy.

“Oh,” Steve says, when he opens the door. “I thought you were Sam.”

Bucky gives an easy smile that wavers just a little at the corners. “Nope, just me,” he answers.

“Okay,” Steve says, leaning against the doorframe, his arms going to cross over hs chest. “What do you want?”

Bucky wants so very badly to ignore the coldness that has overtaken his tone. He can’t even really blame him — he hasn’t really given Steve a reason to actually be friendly towards him.

“I, um,” Bucky says. “I just wanted to come over here and say sorry. About Pierce and Rumlow. They can kinda be assholes.”

There’s a brief look of surprise on Steve’s face before he gives Bucky a look that paralyzes him to the spot — a look that says, _So why do you hang out with them, then?_ And really, Bucky doesn’t have an answer that would suffice.

Steve just says, “Yeah, they can be.”

Bucky wants to say more. There’s something holding him back from getting closer. Bucky told himself from the very beginning— _this boy is beautiful and lovely. He is first to help and last to leave anyone behind. He could be exactly what you’re looking for._

He’s exactly what Bucky’s looking for, in the wrong person. Bucky wants to punch himself in the face.

“Look, James,” Steve says, and the name is a reminder that Bucky never told Steve to call him by his nickname, something that kind of makes him feel guilty for a split second before he tunes back into reality.

“It’s nice of you to apologize,” Steve is saying. “But I don’t want you to apologize for them. If they’re sorry, they’ll do it themselves, but I doubt they care that much.”

Bucky’s gaze falls to the floor. Steve is right, and Bucky feels a little ashamed at the fact that he’s mostly just trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his pride, hoping that Steve will still like him even though he’s part of the problem.

“And, by the way…” he says quieter. “I can get by on my own.”

He says this with a little smirk, but Bucky can tell that there’s something that’s broken inside of Steve, that the teasing and harshness of Pierce and Rumlow are getting to him more than he wants to admit. Bucky wants to point it out, to tell Steve that it’s okay to be upset, that he doesn’t have to be strong, but he feels like that would ruin things rather than fix them.

“I know you can,” Bucky says, and it’s not a lie. He gives Steve a small, crooked smile. “Thing is… you don’t _have_ to.”

Something melts in the boy’s expression, if only slightly. He gives Bucky a small smile of his own before saying, “Thanks, James.”

He starts to close the door, but Bucky catches it with his hand.

“I—really, Steve,” he says, unable to take it anymore. “I’m sorry. For—you know. It’s killing me.”

And then Steve’s face hardens again. “Why do you keep doing it, then?” he says— _growls_ , actually.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out, a fish without water.

Steve presses his mouth into a harsh line. “Apologize by _doing_ something.” And he closes the door with a soft click.

+++

Bucky is pissed at himself. Steve is, by far, the nicest kid he’s ever met. He’s got kind eyes and a spit-fire soul and never-gonna-give-up attitude — and Rumlow and Pierce are here, trying to break his fucking spirit, and Bucky can’t even get up the courage to tell them to knock it off.

He can’t sleep that night, even though he knows he should probably sleep in. He worries his way until the first gray tendrils of light start to spill over the horizon, and then he gets up and dresses in his regular training clothing

He sits on the edge of a cliff, watching the sunrise over the sea, pondering what he should do. The answer should be obvious, but for some reason he feels like he can’t make the choice. Whenever he makes up his mind, something makes him second-guess himself. It’s quite a maddening dilemma.

He looks up as he hears someone approaching him from behind, and sees that it’s Brock. The boy smiles a wide grin when they make eye contact, and Bucky beckons him over to sit next to him.

Brock sits next to Bucky, huffing a contented sigh as he lowers himself down.

“Hey,” Bucky says, giving a small smile.

While Brock has done some shitty things, Bucky still thinks that Brock could possibly be a good guy. He has a bright atmosphere around him; he’s quick to joke and easy to talk to. Bucky just wishes he wouldn’t mock and make snap judgements.

If he’s going to say something, now would probably be the time to do it. He thinks about what Steve said, about doing something to show he’s sorry. He wants to get angry, to tell Steve that he really doesn’t know the circumstances of his hesitance, but he knows that they’ll all just sound like excuses. Because they are.

“Hey,” Brock says, swinging his legs over the edge of the cliff. He’s wearing a short sleeve shirt, one that rides up a little on his bicep to show dark lines, the beginnings of a tattoo. Bucky tilts his head, trying to get a better look at it.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, referring to the small glance of a tattoo on Brock’s upper arm. He points a little, looking up expectantly.

“Oh, that?” Brock replies, and quickly pulls his sleeve down to cover it. “It’s nothing, I got it when I was younger. Kind of embarrasses me now. I’ve been meaning to find someone to get rid of it.”

“What’s it of?” Bucky asks. Brock chuckles nervously.

“Nothing, really. A snake,” he answers.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. He’s not certain, but he thought he saw the image of a skull — not a snake.

“Oh,” Bucky says, deciding to not mention it. “That’s not that embarrassing.”

Brock shrugs. “I got it as a kid. It seems stupid now.”

Bucky nods, understanding entirely what that feels like.

They sit quietly for a few more moments. The sun is fully up, now, burning too bright for Bucky to really even watch. People are starting to emerge from their dorms to get breakfast. Bucky didn’t even realize how late it’s become. Bucky says that he’s hungry, and Brock agrees that they should go get something to eat. Bucky gets up and helps Brock to his feet and they begin to make their way to the pavilion. He brushes his pants off on the way there self-consciously.

When they get there, Bucky wishes that he’d waited a few moments before coming, because Steve is serving himself breakfast. Brock groans at the sight of him.

“God, when is he gonna go home?” he huffs in annoyance. “He doesn’t fucking belong here.” He starts to march his way over to Steve, presumably to tell Steve off for no reason other than existing, when Bucky grabs his arm to keep him back.

He’s just gonna say it, he decides. “Dude, I don’t think you should—” Bucky starts.

Of course, though, that’s when Fury announces that there will be three people going home today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pals! Thank you for the comments and kudos. This is a bit of a longer chapter -- I hope you like it! The whole fic should be up by the 28th. Yay!

####  _BUCKY_

Bucky’s heart races for a second, worried for a reason that he can’t quite place his finger on.

Fury has a list in his hand, the paper crumpled just slightly in his fist. “If I say your last name, you are _safe_ to stay. If I didn’t say your name, that wasn’t a mistake. I meant to not say it, and you need to go home. I’m not going to repeat myself. There will be three people gone this round — one male and two females, for varying reasons. You can ask me yourself afterwards. Eventually, we’re going to narrow it down to just twenty people. Alright? Listen up.”

Bucky’s mouth is dry from the nervousness. He listens intently, but it’s hard to hear over the blood rushing in his ears.

“Okay, for the males,” Fury states. He holds up the list to his eye level and begins to read. “Barnes, Barton, Cage, Jones, Lang, Maximoff, Murdock, Odinson, Pierce, Rhodes, Rogers, Rumlow, Stark, Wilson. You’re all safe this round.”

Bucky heaves a sigh of relief upon hearing both his and Steve’s name called this round. His lips twists slightly, though, knowing that Pierce and Rumlow are still going to be here.

“For the females,” the Director continues, “Bishop, Carter, Chavez, Danvers, Jones, Khan, Maximoff, Munroe, Parrington, Storm, van Dyne, Walker, Walters.  Good job on making it through the first round. We’ll have another meeting like this in a week. Can’t wait.” And then Fury clambers back to his quarters, not bothering to stay behind and answer the questions of the three people disqualified today.

“Can’t believe Rogers wasn’t told to pack up and go,” a voice to Bucky’s right says—he turns to fond Pierce standing there, his red hair shining, fiery, in the early morning sunlight.

Bucky’s mouth flaps, searching for something to say. He settles with a choked, “Yeah?”

The three of them walk away from the pavilion, leaving Bucky a little disappointed, because he wanted breakfast.

He’s trying to decide whether or not to express his true opinion of Steve, considering he just talked to him last night about telling Brock and Alexander off this morning. He just needs to wait for his opening and then he can tell Steve that the deed is done, that it’s okay, he doesn’t need to worry about Brock or Pierce anymore. But his first opening was interrupted by Fury, and now he needs to wait again.

He looks over at Steve, sitting at a table with Peggy Carter and Sam Wilson. They’ve become a sort of trio in the past week, though Peggy splits her time between Steve and the other girls that she rooms with. She seems friendly enough, but also quite protective of Steve. He’s surprised she hasn’t told Rumlow or Pierce off herself already.

He makes his decision.

“I mean, I can see why he’s still here,” Bucky eventually settles with, setting his mouth in a hard line.

They’re headed towards the well. Bucky rushes ahead a little so he can sit down on top of it, jumping so he can sit on its edge.

“What, you like him?” Pierce asks.

Bucky bites down hard on his tongue. “No,” he manages. He looks down at his fingers twiddling in his lap. “I just think he’s got as much right to be here as you and I do.”

Pierce and Brock share a look that Bucky can’t decipher. After a meaningful second, Pierce just laughs softly. “Are you saying that you would like Rogers— _Steve Rogers_ —to protect you more than Peter Quill would have?”

Bucky’s about to say that Quill was late to roll call every day except for the first, but he sees what Pierce means. Rogers is strong-willed and fiercely brave, but he has a laundry list of ailments that set him apart from the rest of the trainees.

Bucky swallows hard. “I mean—”

“Don’t be stupid, Barnes,” Pierce interrupts. “Rogers doesn’t even like you, how could you even trust him to protect you?”

Bucky’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. After a moment of pure silence, he asks, “What?”

“Yeah,” Pierce says. “I heard him talking to Sam Wilson about it just now. He said that he thinks you’re an arrogant asshole. And a coward.”

Stomach in knots, Bucky begins to fumble with his hands. And here he thought that Steve and he were — well, not friends, but at least heading in that direction. He really likes Steve, he really admires him… but it looks like those feelings are one-sided.

And while Bucky hasn’t exactly been the most upstanding guy, how can Steve say that about him when they just talked yesterday? Can’t Steve just give him a little time to prove himself? A little benefit of the doubt?

“Look, I’m not telling you this to hurt you,” Pierce says, leaning down to clap a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I just don’t want you fooling yourself, you know?”

Bucky’s hands curl into fists before he relaxes them. “No, I get it,” Bucky says, looking up at Pierce’s face. He’s really quite handsome — ice blue eyes and flaming red hair. “It’s good that you told me. You’re a good friend.”

Pierce keeps his hand on Bucky’s back as he starts to sit down next to him. “Some people pretend to be your friends because they can’t handle having a few enemies,” Pierce tells him. “They’re cowards masquerading as peacekeepers.” He jerks his chin in Steve’s direction. “Don’t trust them.”

“Yeah,” Rumlow interjects. “The same assholes that preach compromise and love.” He scoffs in disgust, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t no such thing as compromise. Just one person who’s more persuasive than the other.”

Bucky folds into himself a little, feeling cold. “I guess you’re right,” he says with a soft sigh. “I just didn’t really want to think he’d be such a jerk, you know?”

Pierce nods, as if in understanding. “I get how you feel. It sucks to be stabbed in the back.”

 

If Steve is going to talk about him behind his back, then Bucky has no reason to lose sleep over how Brock and Pierce treat him. Bucky’s is trying to balance his life in a way that is most consuming, and Steve is here making snap judgements and broadcasting them to the world.

Is Bucky a little arrogant? Possibly. He has to be confident — would people want to follow a cowardly king? Would people want to follow a man who always second-guessed his own actions? No.

Is he an asshole? Well.

The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets — he lost sleep over this boy. He agonized how Steve felt over it and tortured himself for acting a certain way. He liked this boy — even had a bit of a _crush_ on him. Bucky’s just disappointed that he wasted his fucking time on someone he thought was kind and nice and instead turned out to be a dick.

Bucky can’t cater to every single person. Not everyone is going to be happy with the decisions he makes. Steve isn’t entitled to Bucky’s life — he’s not entitled to have any sort of opinion over who Bucky chooses to spend his time with or any other personal thing.

When he gets right down to it, Steve should mean nothing to him. Nothing. Bucky is a prince, a future king. Should he topple his entire world down because one subject is being teased a little? Fuck that.

From now on, Steve is not his friend. He’s not his teammate. He’s just someone standing in Bucky’s way.

####  _STEVE_

He feels a hot rush of satisfaction when he hears his name called at breakfast. He sends a small little smirk Sam’s way, which he returns just a second later, hearing his name called as well.

Peggy doesn’t even blink when her names is called — she already knew she was in the clear.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” Peggy says, when Sam asks her how she knew. She smiles at him and takes a bite of her bread roll. “Everyone could see that Peter Quill was going to be eliminated. He couldn’t even bother to show up half the time.”

Steve doesn’t say that perhaps Peter was eliminated for the same reason Gamora was eliminated. He just smiles and finishes his food.

“Who was the other girl that was eliminated?” Sam asks Peggy.

“Bobbi Morse,” she answers.

“Damn, I liked her,” Sam says, a pout on his face.

They clear their table up after breakfast and Steve looks around. The trainees are most just lounging around glad to be enjoying the sunshine in a way that doesn’t require them crawling under barbed wires or shooting arrows at targets.

It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day, with no clouds in the sky or storms on the horizon. Steve wanders down to the stream at the edge of the forest and dips his feet in the water. Sam and Steve dick around for hours, acting like children. Peggy sits on the riverbank and occasionally shouts out a good-natured jeer at the two of them.

Steve hunts for crawdads. His feet are bare in the water; the mud squishes between his toes in an incredibly satisfying way. The fish move too quickly for Steve to catch with his bare hands, and when noontime rolls around, he has nothing to show for his efforts except a wickedly painful sunburn across his neck and shoulders.

“Can you heal this?” Steve asks Peggy as they head to the pavilion for lunch. He gestures vaguely to his sunburnt neck and shoulders. It hurts to even move his arms.

Peggy examines him quickly and says, “I could, but I don’t know if I should.” She smiles mischievously and Steve groans.

“Please?” Steve whines. “Pretty please?”

Peggy laughs, musical like a silver bell. They’re interrupted when the Prince and his two tag-alongs — Brock and Alexander — suddenly walk between the two of them on his way to the dormitories, cuffing Steve in the shoulder on his way there.

“Oof,” Steve says, stumbling back a few steps. Steve’s hand goes to his shoulder. If he weren’t so goddamn bony it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Watch it,” Brock growls, a sneer curling the corners of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have to watch it, if you all had some common decency,” Sam snarks back. Brock just laughs, but the Prince says nothing, his head bowed down. Steve wishes he’d look at him — weren’t they just speaking last night? What happened?

Peggy cocks her hand to her hip defensively. “Sorry if we were in your way, _Your Highness_ ,” she calls after them as they walk away, sarcasm absolutely dripping from her statement. Sam laughs and Steve wants to join in, but he feels like something is off about this whole situation.

James seemed so upset last night, so remorseful and guilty. And today he’s the leader of the two boys who hate him. Something isn’t right.

“What’s his problem?” Sam asks, eyebrows pulling together.

Steve stares back at the Prince, a strange sense of foreboding settling in his head. He shakes his head and turns away from the Prince’s retreating form.

“No idea,” Steve answers.

+++

The next day, Steve wakes up bright and early for the next week of training. He gets dressed and stands outside of his door for roll call as usual, and notices that he’s not one of the first people outside anymore. Before him are Pietro Maximoff, Luke Cage, Matt Murdock, _and_ Rhodey. Steve wonders if this is some competitive bullshit that everyone is going to get swept up in. He wants no part of it.

Roll is taken, breakfast is had, and all the trainees meet by the well afterwards to drink before the day becomes too hot. Director Fury meets them outside, dressed in all black as usual. Steve doesn’t know whether to think that he’s crazy or admire his strength.

“Team exercise today,” Fury says in a booming, fake-cheerful voice. “You all get to learn how to work together! And both teams were picked by me, because I don’t have time to deal with all your petty bullshit.” He flashes a smile as a collective groan rises from the trainees, giving a laugh that Steve can’t help but smile at.

“Team that loses has to clean dorms for a week,” Fury says. Steve’s smile slips right off his face. “Both of them, all the way through. And I will be inspecting your work.” A collective groan rises from the crowd, to which Fury just shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to be the winning team, then.”

Steve looks at Peggy and Sam, standing next to him. He hopes to God that at least one of them is on his team.

“There’s an egg in the forest,” Fury says, pointing towards the woods. “You need to get it and bring it back to me, unharmed. If you drop it and break it, you all lose.” Fury rolls his eyes as a few people try to protest that rule. He just continues with his speech as if no one’s spoken. “If it’s taken from you and the other team gets it back to me, you lose. I don’t care who found it. I just care who hands it over to me.

“There will be three teams of nine,” Fury continues. “Okay, listen up. First team: Maximoff — that’s Pietro Maximoff, not Wanda — Munroe, Parrington, Pierce, Rhodes, Rumlow…”

Steve rolls his eyes — of course Pierce and Rumlow would be paired together. The only saving grace is that the Prince doesn’t seem to be on the team with them.

Steve zones out a little during the second team announced, but he gathers that Sam won’t be on their team. Having not heard Peggy’s name announced, he’s relieved that he’ll have a friend with him on his team.

“Okay, last team,” Fury says. “Barnes, Barton, Bishop, Carter, Danvers, Gabe Jones, Lang, other Maximoff, and Rogers. Any questions? Okay, go talk to your teammates.”

Steve’s heart sinks when he realizes that the Prince is going to be on his team. He’s sure he can put aside their differences for a second while they do this training exercise, but he can’t be sure that James will do the same thing.

His teammates all gather around and immediately start talking strategy.

“We need to split up in the forest. Go in pairs,” Wanda suggests. “That way we won’t get lost as easily but we’ll still cover ground.” The rest of the team nods.

“But we should have a few people that stay back,” Steve suggests. Eight pairs of eyes turn to him. He shrinks a little before gaining confidence back. “That way we can catch whoever comes out with the egg, maybe take it back at the last second if it’s not our team.”

“That’s a good idea,” Barton says.

“Rogers is small. He should go into the forest. He can hide easily and slip into places that some of us can’t,” Kate Bishop says.

Danvers looks at Steve and Peggy. “You two can pair up, right?” she asks, and Peggy nods for the both of them.

“Gabe and I will stay out here, guard the edge of the forest,” Barton says. “We’re both kinda tall.”

“I like it,” Danvers says. “So, Wanda, Steve, Peggy, Kate and I will go into the forest.” She twists her mouth, making a decision. “Barnes, you stay here with Barton and Gabe. Scott, you come with us.”

“What,” Scott and James say at the same time.

Carol sighs, rubbing her forehead. “If we have three people stay here then we can have three even pairs go into the forest,” she explains. She looks at the Prince pointedly. “No one will be the odd man out. Besides, you’re really fucking tall. What are you, six feet? Nothing personal.”

Bucky frowns at her, but stays behind with Barton and Gabe as the six of them run ahead to wait for Fury’s signal.

The trainees gather at the edge of the forest, waiting for the go-ahead. When Fury is satisfied that everyone has talked to each other, he calls for everyone to get ready, get set.

Steve and Peggy stand, ready to run. Everyone waits, some impatiently, but Steve doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, should he accidentally go too early.

Steve looks at Danvers. She points to herself, and then to the east, and to him and Peggy, to the north. Steve nods in understanding.

“Go!” the Director shouts.

Steve lurches forward, along with Peggy. He can’t sprint for very long, but he can probably run for a few minutes before his asthma catches up to him. He takes Peggy’s hand and leads her north. She doesn’t question him; she must have seen his exchange with Carol.

The forest is enchanted — and not in the nice, beautiful way. Pixies run amok among the trees, nymphs and other little tricksters hide in the underbrush and among the branches. The forest is supposed to be confusing, to deter robbers and those wishing to sabotage the Royal Guard training program. It does a fantastic job of that.

“Whoa,” Peggy says, holding an arm out in front of Steve. They both jog to a stop. “Stand back. Look.” She points up at the canopy of leaves above them, where Steve sees that a net trap has been rigged. “I don’t know if Fury or if pixies did that, but I don’t want to find out.”

They go around, and Steve is much more watchful now, examining the ground the sky, treading carefully but quickly. Sometimes, movement in his periphery will catch Steve’s eye, but when he turns, there’s nothing there. He feels like he’s going crazy until he hears a distinct giggle, and then decides it must just be the tree nymphs fucking around with him.

“Just ignore them,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes. “The more you react, the more they’ll do it. They’ll get bored and move on.”

They walk for what feels like hours, dodging traps and crawling through overgrown trees. Just when Steve is about to give up or ask if she thinks they’ve gone too far, Steve sees it — a white pedestal in the distance, the egg situated on top, and no other trainee in sight to steal their treasure.

Steve and Peggy share a look, and then run excitedly to the pedestal. They begin to slow their approach as they get closer, searching above and below for any traps.

It’s beautiful, with intricate gold metalwork wrapping around carved blue stone. Steve notices that it has a slight glow about it, telling him that it’s probably got some magical properties of some sort.

Peggy and Steve both stare at the egg, smiling at each other before both reaching for it at the same time.

Steve takes his hands back with a small, “Oh.” Peggy looks back and forth between the egg and Steve before finally saying, “Take it.”

He blinks. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Peggy nods. “Do it.”

Steve smiles at her and reaches for the egg, hands moving ever-so-slow, in case it’s booby-trapped.

It’s not. Steve takes the egg in both hands and lifts it from the pedestal with a reverence that rivals a priest’s. It’s surprisingly light for its appearance, and quite large. He tucks it in safely against his chest and the pair start to book it, running back the way they came.

Steve eventually has to stop running, his chest feeling tight and his throat threatening to close on him. He wheezes to a stop, hands on his knees.

“I just need a minute,” he says. Peggy doesn’t answer, and he looks up finally.

Peggy isn’t there.

“Peggy?” Steve calls. He turns in a circle, not spotting his friend anywhere. “Pegs?” He turns in a circle again, beginning to worry.

“Steve!” he hears, and turns. That was Peggy’s voice—or was it a nymph, messing with his head again?

He tries again, “Peggy!”

“Rogers!” a different voice calls.

Steve turns around in time to see Prince James running towards him. What the fuck is he doing here? He was supposed to stay back and keep watch.

Steve doesn’t have time to question the Prince as he runs towards him and takes the egg from under Steve’s arm without acknowledging anything, and Steve wants to scream in frustration and panic at the same time.

“James,” Steve says. “James, I have it!”

But the Prince doesn’t listen to him—just keeps going. “C’mon, Rogers — this is the way out!” He points to the opposite way Steve was going, and a bolt of fear hits his stomach.

“No, don’t, that’s—!” he starts to protest.

Too late. James runs straight into a net trap that goes off, and James loses the egg as he’s pulled from the ground and into the air with a strangled shriek. The egg drops to the ground — thankfully, not broken.

“—the net trap,” Steve finishes lamely.  He rushes forward as quickly as he can, about to grab the egg when Rumlow — where the fuck did he come from? — swoops in before him, grabbing the prize with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Better luck next time, Rogers,” he sneers, and runs towards the edge of the woods, faster than Steve could hope to catch him. He chases after him anyway. He sees a head of black hair in the distance — Gabe Jones, keeping watch.

He screams for Gabe, yelling for his attention, hoping that he’ll be able to apprehend Brock before he can cross the finish line, but no such luck—Brock shoves Gabe to the side and he stumbles into the dirt, while Brock makes his way out of the forest, egg in hand.

Steve keeps on yelling as Gabe, at the last second, grabs Brock’s leg as he runs, effectively tripping the boy. The egg flies from his hand and through the air, and no one is close enough to catch it. It hits the ground and shatters, metal pieces flying every which way, the precious blue stone inside crumbling to dust.

Steve stops screaming abruptly, all sound caught in his throat. With a wince, he buries his head in his hands, fingers going to his hair, grabbing handfuls. He jogs to a stop just at the forest’s edge. He doesn’t want to believe his eyes. Behind him, he hears running footsteps — he turns to find several other trainees, Peggy among them.

They all stare in shock at the egg shattered on the ground. Some people look up, unsure of what happens now. Brock is beginning to peel himself off the ground, and Gabe is already standing up, brushing his clothes off with a nonchalance that amuses Steve.

People are still emerging from the forest, having heard the commotion. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Peggy gather herself and start heading towards the woods again.

“Are you serious?” she yells. Steve turns around to see Peggy stalking towards the Prince, who has just emerged from the forest, covered in dirt and rope fibers.

The Prince looks confused that Peggy is talking to him, and turns each way to see if she perhaps means someone else.

“Uh—what?” he asks.

Peggy stomps towards him, fire flashing in her eyes. “Steve had it! Steve had the egg, and you just had to swoop in and be the hero!” She points an accusing finger at him, poking him hard in the chest. “We told you to stay here and you thought you should just do whatever you wanted. You didn’t even know where you were going!”

Anger flashes in James’ eyes as he goes to say, “I thought he—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Peggy interrupts. “Thanks for nothing, dickhead.”

Other trainees look on with faces that range from anger, to disappointment, to downright amusement.

“Wait, is she for real?” one of them says — Clint, it seems like. “Rogers had it?”

“Yes,” Kate says. “Now shut up.”

Peggy is so angry Steve can practically see the steam shooting out of her ears. Steve walks over to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to tug her away from where she is mere seconds away from punching James in the face.

“C’mon,” Steve says softly.

Peggy turns around to see Steve. “But he—”

“I know what he did,” Steve says, trying to keep calm. The truth is that he really just wants to fucking punch James for the way he tried to steal Steve’s moment, but the harsh reality is that nothing can change what’s already happened.

He allows himself to glance in the Prince’s direction for a split second before his eyes are back on Peggy.

“He’s not worth it,” Steve finally says, and the Prince’s face _changes_.

“I’m not worth it, huh?” James spits at him. “The fuck does that mean?”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together. Instead of backtracking, he steels himself and says, “You heard me.”

The Prince scoffs, turning his head away and shaking it just slightly. The sun glints off the circlet against his forehead, blindly bright, but Steve doesn’t look away. After a moment, the Prince looks at Steve with fire in his eyes and says, “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

He feels Peggy pull away from him, and his hand drops unconsciously. He squares his skinny shoulders, making himself as big as possible. It’s not much difference, but Steve doesn’t care right now — that’s not what he’s focused on. Steve raises his eyebrows and says, “ _I’m_ a piece of work? Okay, sure.”

The Prince takes a step forward, getting into Steve’s space, and pushes him backwards with one hand to the chest. “Fuck you, Rogers,” he growls.

“Fuck you, too, Barnes,” Steve retorts, reaching forward to push the Prince back. There’s a few hesitant hisses from their audience — Steve hadn’t even realized that they were attracting a crowd — and he realizes with a shock that he’s just _pushed_ the future King of their country. He doesn’t really care.

The Prince grabs Steve’s bony wrist in his hand, squeezing bruisingly hard. Steve wants to tug, but he knows that James is stronger than him and it would just look pitiful. Instead he taunts, “You gonna break my wrist, Barnes? Do it already.”

The way the Prince’s hand tightens around his wrist makes him think, for a second, that he might actually do it.

“What the fuck is going on over here?” a voice calls. Steve and James both look up to see the crowd parting, the Assistant Director — Natasha Romanoff — making her way towards the pair of them.

James immediately drops Steve’s wrist at the sight of her, taking a step backwards, but she’s still seem them. Steve’s heart races. Fuck, he’s going to be kicked out…

“What’s going on?” Natasha asks, and she looks absolutely _livid_. “Bucky?” she asks, turning to the Prince.

James doesn’t answer, just stares down at his feet with an angry expression on his face. She turns to Steve instead.

“What about you?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow up.

Steve’s just gonna admit it — Natasha scares the fuck out of him, more so than Fury. She has a quiet, calculating cold around her. The way she walks around, the way she talks and acts tells Steve that she could kill him with her pinky finger and get away with it.

Steve decides not to lie.

“It was my fault,” he says. “I provoked him.” Telling the truth leaves a nasty feeling in his stomach — he knows he’s going to have to leave, now.

Natasha’s face softens just a little. “Knowing him, that probably means he overreacted to something you said, right?” She’s making a joke. Steve smiles just a little bit, but forces it back down.

“I guess you could say that,” he replies mildly.

Natasha looks him up and down. “You’re not in trouble, Rogers. You can stop shaking.” Steve breathes a small laugh and smiles. “This one, however…” She turns to James, her expression souring again. “We’re gonna have a talk. Everyone can go back to their dorms. Show’s over. Fury will tell you what happens next in the morning.” She grabs James’ upper arm and begins to walk him away.

The crowd disperses, quiet murmurs floating through the air.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH  
> I'm not used to writing chapters this long! Usually I write 2,000-word chapters but up until this one, there were 4,000 words in each one. Scary!  
> This one's a little shorter because Bucky's part is like 80% dialogue. Oops!

####  _STEVE_

He walks to his dorm in a haze of feeling. So many emotions churn inside of his body that they cancel each other out, make him feel numb rather than overwhelmed.

Peggy was wrong. James didn’t steal the egg away because he wanted to be the hero—well, maybe he did a little. But he probably did it because there was a small part of him that felt like Steve _couldn’t_ do it. That Steve was too small and weak to get it there. That Steve wasn’t capable of doing it himself.

And why wouldn’t he think that? The only thing James knows about Steve is that his bark is much bigger than his bite.

It was Steve’s chance to prove himself and James stole it away. It was Steve’s chance to show all the other trainees that he belongs with them and the Prince ruined it.

He gets to his room and shuts the door behind him. He stands silently at the door before frustration overwhelms him. Leaping headfirst into bed, he grabs his pillow, shoves his face into it, and screams for a solid twenty seconds.

Morning comes quickly. One moment, Steve is face-down on his bed, telling himself that he’s going to have to get up for dinner at some point, and the next he’s waking up to the sound of the door in the room next to his slamming shut.

He opens his eyes slowly and then springs out of bed, worried that he’s slept in late. He dresses in a hurry, but when he gets out, he realizes that he didn’t have to worry. He’s one of the last to get out, yes, but Fury hasn’t shown up yet.

He stands outside of his room with his hands clasped behind his back. He feels tired and incredibly hungry, considering he accidentally skipped dinner last night. The trainees standing outside of their doors all look incredibly nervous. Usually they speak to each other a little, or even just acknowledge each other in some way, but yesterday’s events have them all rattled. He still feels oddly tired, even though he knows he slept more than usual. His eyelids feel heavy as he waits outside his door.

James doesn’t come out for roll call. Steve wonders what he’s got up to, wonders if he’ll be back or if them almost fighting yesterday somehow got James kicked out.

He decides not to dwell on it. All the trainees wait patiently as someone enters the room — roll call starts, but it’s Natasha, not Fury, who does the job today. All the small changes happening have Steve worried.

When they go to breakfast, Steve can hardly eat even though he’s starving. Nervousness bubbles up inside Steve’s stomach. He picks at his plate and Peggy forces him to take a few bites of the food he’s picked out today — roasted potatoes, bread, spinach, and a glass of milk — which only serve to make his stomach feel worse than it already does.

Fury appears halfway through breakfast and tells the trainees to meet him by the well. Steve and Sam eat slowly together, dragging it out as long as they can before they absolutely have to get up.

All the trainees stand together near the well, a cloud of nervousness having descended upon the group. Fury waits for everyone to join them and starts talking as soon as the last person — Tony Stark, evidently — is jogging up to the group. Then the Director starts to tell them what happens next.

“Since the egg was dropped yesterday, there was no winner,” Fury says. His hands are clasped behind his back, he stands up straight as a rod. Steve feels about two inches tall next to him. “While you all worked together yesterday, I’m sure not everything went to plan. I’m sure you all have your scapegoats at the ready.”

Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest. He feels absolutely awful.

“There were three teams yesterday,” Fury says. “You’re all going to get into your teams from yesterday. You have to all vote for one person from your team yesterday that you want gone from the program entirely, unless someone from your team volunteers themself gone. I’m sure there was someone yesterday who wasn’t a team player. Everyone in your team needs to reach a consensus and then come talk to me about who’s leaving.”

A general uneasiness settles throughout the group as Steve’s shoulders droop. There’s no way he’s going to be kept here, not when everyone already doubts his ability… there’s just no way.

But then again, lots of people were pissed at James yesterday. But James isn’t there. Steve doesn’t really know what to think — is he gone for good? Will he be back soon? Do they have to vote for anyone when their biggest problem is already gone?

Carol has gathered everyone into a circle. No one can meet anyone else’s eyes; they all stare at the ground, standing around in silence, waiting for someone to speak up.

Finally, someone does.

“He’s the Prince,” Clint says, his voice low, like he wants to say what he’s saying but, at the same time, he doesn’t want anyone to hear it. “Can we really vote for him to leave?”

Can Steve really be blamed for the rush of relief he gets that he’s not the first one to be nominated?

Everyone else seems to have the same idea. Steve shuffles from foot to foot, feeling guilty. James was the one who didn’t work according to plan — if he weren’t the Prince, they all would have put forth his name by now. There wouldn’t have been a discussion.

“I don’t think we can,” Steve says after a moment. “He’ll be here whether we vote him away or not. It wouldn’t be good for his image.” The words taste bitter on his tongue.

“I think we should do it anyway,” Kate says, crossing her arms. “We gave him direct orders. If he had just followed through on them, we’d all be sitting back while we watched the other two teams clean our bathrooms for a week.”

There’s a faint murmur of agreement at Kate’s statement, but Steve doesn’t think it’ll work. If they vote him away and it ends up that the Prince stays anyway, they’ll just have made an enemy of him.

Steve voices this thought and Scott says, “He’s kinda got a point,” before three people start speaking at once, snappish and argumentative.

“Okay, everyone stop,” someone — Gabe, it seems — says.

Everyone turns to look at him, and he gives a small, tired smile.

“Let’s compromise,” he says. “I’ll volunteer.”

The entire group is stunned into silence, so Gabe keeps going when he receives no answer.

“I was supposed to be on guard,” he explains, “and I didn’t even notice Rumlow until he smacked right into me, even with Steve screaming bloody murder for my attention. It’s best if I go. That way we have one sub-par person gone and you don’t make enemies with our future King.”

“No,” Peggy says, pulling her eyebrows together. “That wasn’t even your fault! You shouldn’t have to pay the price for someone else’s wrongdoing.”

“It’s my choice,” Gabe says. He gives Peggy a small smile. “No one’s telling me to do it. It’s all me.”

But Peggy doesn’t look comforted by his statement. In fact, she looks even more upset.

Gabe turns away from her and looks at his teammates. No one wants him to go, but it seems that no one can take his place.

Gabe turns to Steve.

“You’re better than anyone gives you credit for,” he tells him. “Don’t let anyone take that from you again, understand? Don’t let them underestimate you. And when they take away your chance, you create one yourself. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, his mouth twisting downwards. For a moment, he’s tempted to tell Gabe to stay here and he’ll volunteer instead. Gabe deserves a spot here — Steve can take the blame this time around. But then Gabe is slipping away from him and going up to Fury to tell him his choice. Steve stands there, rooted to the spot, too much of a coward to make the fucking sacrifice.

Fury looks taken aback by every team member that comes up to talk to him. When the last team goes up, he clears his throat to get the attention of the trainees.

“We have… three volunteers,” Fury says. He is stony-faced as ever, but Steve thinks he sees a little pinch of regret in his expression. “Gabe Jones, Susan Storm, and Kamala Khan.” He mulls over this for a brief second before turning to the three volunteers. “Thank you,” he says, and he sounds completely sincere. “Each of you is a fantastic fighter. It takes courage to give up something that you’ve always wanted.”

If Steve didn’t feel guilty before, he definitely feels guilty now. None of those kids deserve to leave. Every one of them is a good fighter, a good soldier, a good person. They don’t deserve the shit they’re getting.

+++

While Gabe, Kamala, and Susan pack up, the rest of the trainees have to do business as usual, as if they don’t all feel incredibly guilty and disgusting.

Well, _almost_ all of them feel guilty.

Pierce and Brock talk like usual, like nothing has happened at all. They crack jokes, make fun of Steve—especially since Steve lost the egg to Brock yesterday. There is no shortage of reminders for Steve about his failure to deliver his team to victory.

Steve almost snaps and tells Brock that he wasn’t clever enough to find the egg himself, that someone else had to do it for him, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Instead, he trains. And he trains hard. He pushes himself almost too far, and Peggy looks at him worriedly the entire day, while Sam is constantly at his side.

He feels like he needs to work twice as hard. Picking up the slack that’s left by Gabe’s absence from the team. It shouldn’t have been Gabe. It shouldn’t have been any of them. If anyone — it should have been Steve.

So he runs faster. He climbs higher. He punches harder. He didn’t know that he could do all these things until someone pushed him to. He amazes himself with what he’s capable of. It makes him happy, for just a moment, that he can do all these things.

Peggy and Sam really don’t need to worry. Steve works himself hard, and it hurts, but he doesn’t overdo it. He’s fine when they go to dinner that night, but he can tell his friends are wary of him. They throw him worried glances and ask him several times if he’s okay. Steve says yes every time.

Steve finishes his dinner in the pavilion, having worked up quite the appetite. He eats his food quickly and Sam makes a joke that he should probably chew his food before he swallows it. They laugh. The tension breaks just a little.

After dinner, Steve sits down next to Peggy on the ground, lying next to the stream that leads from the forest, staring at the sky as stars start to poke themselves through the fading blue-black canopy above them.

“I’m sorry about Gabe,” he says.

Peggy just exhales sharply, wrapping her arms around her knees. “No need to apologize when it’s not your fault,” she replies.

Steve nods and brushes his palms off on his pants. After a long pause, he says, “I didn’t know you liked him so much.”

Peggy presses her lips into a harsh line. “I respect him a great deal. He’s a good man.”

For some reason, he feels like it’s more than that. He won’t say anything, though — not if Peggy isn’t ready to admit it herself. They watch the sky darken in silence, knowing that they’ll have to get up soon. Curfew is in half an hour, and they have to do this all again tomorrow.

He likes the new routine he has created for himself. It requires no thought, no emotion, and it works for him.

Steve throws himself into training, working himself to the brink every single time. He goes to bed at night, bone-tired and exhausted, and he sleeps like a damn log until it’s time to get up in the morning.

It’s a good, mindless routine.

Maybe he can do this.

####  _BUCKY_

After Bucky’s near-fight with Steve, Natasha decides to bring him to the Directors’ quarters — which are really just two little cottages built into a hillside, about a quarter mile away from the dorms of the trainees.

She unlocks the front door and escorts him inside, sits him down at her table, and asks him if he wants tea. He says yes, brightened by her show of courtesy. He thinks that maybe he’s not in as much trouble as he thought.

“You’re still in trouble,” she reminds him.

“Then why are you making me tea?” Bucky asks, rubbing the stop on his arm where Natasha had a death grip on him not five minutes ago.

“Because I’m a nice host,” she answers. “I wasn’t raised by wolves, you know.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Bucky answers mildly, and Nat shoots him a look that tells him that he should probably shut up right now.

Bucky waits, sitting awkwardly in his chair while Nat puts the fire on in the fireplace and starts boiling some water. She reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a small bag of dried tea leaves and sprinkles them into the pot, stirring them every so often. When she’s decided that the tea has steeped enough, she pours some into two cups.

She sets his tea down on the table, the cup steaming in front of him. It smells wonderful, but Bucky doesn’t want to drink it and give her the satisfaction.

“Okay,” Natasha says, sitting down. “So, I gotta ask. What the fuck is your problem?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pull in. “The fuck do you mean?” he asks defensively.

Nat sits back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Bucky with a cold, impenetrable gaze. “I mean, why have you become such an asshole recently?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, just stares at his tea, blinking when the steam gets into his eyes.

“Is it Pierce and Rumlow? They have something to do with it, I bet,” she says with a self-assured tone. Bucky’s jaw tenses.

“Yeah, it’s them,” she says, gauging Bucky’s reaction. “Why, though? They made it pretty clear from the beginning that they’re assholes and you’re hanging out with them anyway. I don’t get it.”

Bucky bites his tongue before he says, “Pierce is nobility.”

“I know,” Nat says, turning her cup around in her hand. And then she looks up at him and asks, “Wait, is that why you’re hanging out with him? Because he’s noble and you’re noble and — what? So your image is safe? So you can marry him?”

Bucky looks away, suddenly very interested in the knot in the wooden table he’s sitting at.

“Bucky,” she says in her warning tone, “just because he’s noble doesn’t mean you have to do everything he wants you to just to fucking impress him. Just because he’s noble doesn’t mean he’s automatically the best choice! You don’t have to fucking throw yourself at him.”

Even though it’s true, Bucky recoils from the statement like it’s caused him physical harm. “Fuck you,” he says. “I’m not throwing myself at him.”

“Look, I’m just saying. Just because he seems like what your mom wants doesn’t mean you have to pick him.”

Buky wrinkles his nose. “That’s not it!” he says, frustrated. “He doesn’t keep things from me. He tells me like it is, even if I don’t want to hear it. He’s my friend — he even told me Steve called me a fucking asshole.”

Natasha rolls her eyes so hard the Bucky can see the whites of them for a split second. “Do you know he’s not lying to you? Do you _really_ think Steve would say that about you?” she asks.

“I don’t know!” Bucky shouts. “I don’t fucking know. Who the fuck am I supposed to trust, the guy that judges me for my every action or the guys that have actually become my friends in the past couple weeks?”

“Maybe you should trust _me_ and _my_ judgement,” Natasha says, “considering I’ve known you the longest and I’ve always been there for you.”

“Like you’ve been here for me the past few weeks, you mean?”

There’s a beat of silence while Natasha gathers herself up, seeming to become larger and more intimidating by the moment. Bucky knows what he said was childish and petty, but he said it anyway, because he’s childish and petty.

“I’ve been _working_ , Bucky,” she says, her voice just barely controlled as she growls at him through her teeth. “Don’t know if you noticed or not, but there are about twenty-five kids here who need my guidance if they want to actually become part of the Guard.”

“Didn’t know that meant you couldn’t speak to me anymore,” Bucky says in a low voice. His gaze drops to the ground and Natasha doesn’t answer for a long time.

“Look,” she says, and sounds slightly gentler than before. “Brock and Pierce aren’t who you think they are. They’re not good people.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, uninterested. “And how do you know that?”

She presses her lips together into a tight line. “Brock’s family has a history of violence and jail time. Pierce’s father has been linked to several — not one, but _several_ — anti-monarch rebel groups. You think marrying him is a good idea? Just because they’re nobility doesn’t mean they’re loyal to the crown.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Well, considering Pierce is here to become a Royal Guardsman, I would say that maybe he’s different from his father.”

“I’m just saying you should keep an eye on them,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy sigh and saying, “Look, am I being kicked out or not?”

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s not up to me,” she tells him. “Fury told me that if something like this happened, each team would vote a member out of the program.”

Bucky’s heart jumps into his throat. “Are you serious?” he asks. “They’re all going to vote for me! I can’t go back home!”

“Well, then, maybe you shouldn’t have been such an ass, Bucky,” she says, quirking an eyebrow up. “I know Carol Danvers asked you to keep watch.”

“I was standing there for forty minutes and nothing happened. She wanted me to be useless. I could have helped!”

“Well, we’ll have your teammates be the judge of that.” She stands from the table, taking Bucky’s full teacup and downing it in one go. She licks her lips and says, “It’s probably best if you don’t go back there right now. Lots of people are pissed. You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I don’t want you going to training in the morning. That’s when they’re gonna hold the vote, and if you’re there, you’ll influence them one way or another.”

Bucky stares down at the table, feeling so fucking helpless and frustrated that he feels like he’s going to punch something soon.

“I’ll make up a bed for you on the couch,” she says.

+++

Falling asleep on the couch would already be difficult, but on top of Natasha’s promise that three people will be getting eliminated tomorrow — and Bucky being a forerunner for that category — it’s amazing that he gets any sleep at all.

The next day is torture. Bucky wakes up late in the cottage and forgets where he is for a second and panics. When he remembers, he’s hit with the realization that his teammates have probably all voted for him to leave by now, and that he should probably start packing as soon as possible.

Breakfast consists of Natasha making fried eggs while Bucky sits and pushes them around his plate. He eats a couple bites before he stops. Nat eventually leaves to take roll for both the male and the female dorms — Fury is doing some sort of important business in the forest early this morning and needs her to do it.

Bucky doesn’t want to leave. He likes it here — he fits in here, in this training program. He’s finally getting to do something he’s looked forward to all his life, and it’s starting to dawn on him that, perhaps, he’s not cut out for it like he thought.

He forces himself to stay put until Nat comes back with the news. It’s not easy, staying holed up in a tiny cottage all day, but eventually it’s time for dinner and Natasha comes back looking tired and ready to punch something.

He knows, had it been up to Natasha, he’d have been sent home a long time ago. He pissed her off something awful when he nearly got into a physical fight with Steve, and constantly hanging around Brock and Pierce hasn’t really made her happy, if her words from last night are anything to go by.

Nat is an extremely disciplined person. Bucky thinks discipline is a fucking joke. It’s not hard to tell why sometimes they butt heads like this.

But at the end of the day, Natasha just comes home and tells him to go back to his dorm. Training as usual tomorrow. Oh, and Gabe Jones took the fall for him, by the way.

Bucky doesn’t want to put the blame on Nat. She’s trying to train him like any other trainee, but it feels cold and impersonal. It feels like she’s more of a teacher and less of his friend, which he misses. Natasha-the-teacher is much less fun than Nat-his-friend. This meaningless dismissal like this is just proof of that.

The way she says it makes him feel guilty. Which — he should feel guilty. Gabe did nothing wrong and he took the fall for Bucky. And again, Bucky feels guilty for only thinking about himself. Three good fighters have been eliminated today because he got a little overeager.

“Oh, and congrats,” Natasha says as he’s slipping out the door to go to dinner and then straight to bed. “We’re going to get our dragons tomorrow, so you got not-eliminated at just the right time. Be up bright and early. We’re going to the egg hatchery tomorrow.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapters should be posted today sometime... Stay tuned. :)

####  _STEVE_

It seems that most of the recruits have been waiting for this moment, as if seeing it as the penultimate event of the training. But Steve knows better—half of training is just getting your dragon to actually cooperate with your wishes.

There’s an egg hatchery deep in the forest. Steve really hates to return there, after the events that took place here last time, but he’ll do it if it means finally meeting his dragon.

The walk there is long. Sweat starts to bead up and fall down his face, stinging his eyes and making him feel particularly grubby. Peggy walks beside him while Sam talks to some of the other guys a few yards back. Natasha and Fury lead while the trainees all follow, scattered in small groups over a great distance.

Steve feels a little nervous, going to pick up the dragons. Just because he’s made it this far doesn’t mean that he’s guaranteed to be chosen by a dragon. He keeps his anxiety in check, though, knowing that worrying about it won’t do any good — it won’t change anything.

The trees get taller the farther in they go. They grow wider, closer together, tall and strong as a cavalry. Protecting.

The trees get difficult to traverse through. The trainees have to squeeze their way through the trunks just to keep up with Fury and Nat, who walk through with barely any issue.

Steve is trying to make his way though a particularly tough spot when he spots Natasha, who’s smiling a little at him.

“You’ve just gotta be polite,” she says, smiling. “They have a lot of pride, you know.”

Steve pulls his arm back and looks up at the trees, towering up very high. Only then does he notice how the branches sway, and yet there is no breeze.

“Could I get by?” Steve asks the trees in a small voice. “Please?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Steve wonders whether they didn’t hear him or if they just don’t like him. But then, the two tree trunks nearest to him begin to bend, twisting away to make room. Steve smiles, pats the tree nearest to him, and says, “Thank you.” He climbs through. After a moment, he sees Peggy and Sam follow him, having learned from his example.

Each tree has to be asked to move. It’s like they want to judge for themselves whether or not the person is worthy of proceeding. Peggy passes through easily, as does Sam. Steve notices that Pierce and Brock fall far behind, having to ask multiple trees for entrance before one actually gives in. It gives Steve a strange sense of satisfaction.

Then, when the trees would be literally impassable from their closeness, Steve steps through to a clearing.

“This is the egg hatchery,” Natasha says, as Peggy and Sam emerge behind them. Soon, all the trainees have gathered, the same look of wonder on each of their faces.

It’s a hub for magical creatures — fairies, nymphs, satyrs. Dragons. They tower over the humans, big as houses or small as geckos. Dragons grow fastest in their first ten years, but they grow continually throughout their lives. The oldest ones are the biggest, tallest, and — generally — sleepiest ones.

Spots of sunlight shine through the forest canopy and glitter off the dragon’s scales. They’re so much _more_ up close — more wonderful, more beautiful, more terrifying. Steve laughs in disbelief. It’s actually happening.

Natasha is talking — Steve tries to zone back in to hear what she’s saying.

“Mothers are very protective of their babies,” she’s saying. “Don’t get to close to any eggs or you’ll have to deal with the consequences yourself. If you want to approach a dragon, make sure your hands aren’t clenched in a fist and approach with your hands out. They aren’t very trusting of strangers. But if you’re chosen, the dragon is most likely to approach you first. If a dragon growls at you, get back. If their spikes pop out of their spine, get back. If they blow black smoke out of their nose, get back. They don’t want you to approach. And really, if it’s tiny human versus big dragon, I don’t really think you’re going to be the one to win.” She smiles blandly at them. “Go on, then.”

Warily, they begin to walk around the hatchery. The place is abuzz with activity, even though everyone seems cautious around the newcomers. Steve looks on as green-skinned nymphs watch them from behind their trees. Flowers bloom in their hair, vines wrap around their legs and arms. They repair the grass whenever a young dragon scorches the ground with its fire. He’s never seen so many gathered in one place.

Mother dragons guard their eggs, eyeing anyone who comes too close. Brock even earns a warning growl from a large, emerald-green dragon, and Steve knows that he’s about ten seconds away from being blasted with a stream of fire. Rumlow backs off, hands held out, placating for once.

When she steps forward, Peggy is chosen almost right away. She is met with a large, white-blue dragon, with spindly horns and crystalline eyes. Peggy laughs delightedly.

Having seen the first trainee chosen, Natasha wanders to Peggy’s side. “That one’s fire is extremely hot,” she warns Peggy. “It burns blue instead of orange. Be careful.”

Peggy smiles widely, reaching up to pat its cheek.

Then Steve sees her—a dragon with red shimmering scales, and two horns that curl like a ram’s on her head. She is still young, probably no older than five years. She’s not very large for dragons her age, but she’s definitely large enough to support Steve’s weight. Her eyes sparkle with intelligence, and—more importantly—mischief.

And she sees him, too. She bounds over to him, and this is when Steve knows he’s been chosen. Warmth fills his chest. Grinning, he reaches out so he can pat her head. But instead, she leans up and bites his finger playfully, her small, sharp teeth stinging him.

Steve yelps, snatching his hand away, but then laughs. He swears that she’s laughing with him. He decides to name her Aitë.

He spends the next hour or so bonding with her, stroking her scales and just looking at her. She’s his now — and Steve knows in his heart that they’re going to be a fantastic team. He can’t wait to fly, to be in the air, at last.

+++

Two weeks of training make all the difference in the world.

Aitë is fitted with a saddle and reins. Steve feels strange putting her in these things—she feels much less like an animal and more like a companion. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, so Steve doesn’t protest.

There are straps on the saddle that buckle around his legs, making sure that he doesn’t slip off when he’s riding. Steve doesn’t falls once, though he’s sure it’s bound to happen eventually.

He does have a bad habit of not tightening his leg straps, though. They’re so uncomfortable around his legs that he leaves them just a tad loose. Peggy berates him about it any time she has the chance.

Flying is just as wonderful as he’d imagined, and more. It’s a sense of total freedom, like he could just keep going forever and there’d be no one to stop him. He could just go on into the sunset.

“The bond between a dragon and its rider is strong,” Natasha says after all the trainees have been rounded up one morning. “You need to trust each other completely. You need to be a team. Your dragons are an extension of yourselves. Don’t treat them like they work for you, because they don’t. They have their own minds, their own whims and desires. They won’t always listen to you. But you need to trust that they’re seeing something you can’t.”

Steve learns how to fly. He and Aitë are fantastic together — while she is smaller than most of the others, she can go spectacularly fast and can glide nearly silently. Steve is proud of her every time they train.

 

It’s nearing night. The dragons usually just find somewhere in the forest to sleep. Steve doesn’t actually know where Aitë goes after dark, but he knows that she’ll be back every morning. He heads back from the forest edge and starts for the dorms, but he’s stopped by someone calling for him.

“Steve,” someone says. He stops and turns to see it’s Natasha. He’s surprised that she’s actually speaking to him — she tends to keep to herself unless she’s conducting an exercise of some sort.

Her red hair looks blood red in the darkness. It shines in the moonlight, making a halo around her head. Steve is really fucking intimidated by her, but he ignores that in his good mood. He approaches her amiably.

“Yeah?” he asks. “You need me?”

As he gets closer, though, his good mood starts to fade. He begins to see the little wrinkle in between her eyebrows, the way her forehead crumples and her eyes are wide and pleading.

Natasha takes a shaky breath and says, “Steve, I have something to tell you. A messenger bird just stopped by. There’s a letter for you.”

Steve’s breathing starts to pick up. “What is it? What’s going on?”

Natasha’s forehead crumples. “It’s about your mother.”

####  _BUCKY_

Nyx — Bucky’s dragon — won’t fly over the forest. There’s something about it that spooks her. No matter how hard Bucky tries, she won’t go close to it. Bucky wouldn’t try so hard to get her to do something she doesn’t like, but Bucky’s tired of having to go around it when they do training exercises. She won’t land in the clearings.

“C’mon,” Bucky whispers. He tries again to get her to approach the edge of the woods, having her take slow steps towards the trees. She’s almost there when she rears up and starts flapping her wings frantically. If not for the straps holding Bucky’s legs in, he would have gone flying backwards.

Nyx is a good dragon, but Bucky feels like they haven’t bonded like the other trainees have. Sometimes Nyx goes off and does her own thing while Bucky’s just along for the ride. Which — in some ways he is, but he’s also there to guide her. He panics when she makes decisions without telling him, and when he panics, she begins to panic too, and they end up fucking up together. Natasha tells him to just trust her, but Bucky is wary of her choices and is afraid of messing up.

Brock and Rumlow stand by, calling out suggestions occasionally and laughing when Bucky fucks up. It was funny at first, but now it’s starting to get really irritating.

“The fuck are you doing, Barnes?” Steve calls to him. Nyx quiets down as Bucky puts a calming hand on her snout, rubbing up and down in calming strokes. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it wrong.”

Bucky chuckles darkly. “Like you could do better?” he sneers.

“What, control my dragon better? Yeah, better than you,” Steve shoots back, and for a moment it sounds like friendly banter, rather than a show of machismo. Bucky smiles, small, a little laugh escaping from his mouth.

“You wanna bet?” he challenges.

There are already people in the area, but they seem to be gaining interest in Steve and Bucky’s conversation. Steve looks around and seems to catch Peggy’s gaze, who looks mostly impassable. Steve looks away from her and back to Bucky.

“Like a race?” Steve asks.

Surprised, Bucky nods. Steve doesn’t usually try to show off like this. Yes, he tries to prove himself, but not like this. He never goes out of his way to act like he’s the greatest.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees.

A reckless little smile makes its way onto Steve’s face. “What do you want if you win?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. It’s unlikely Steve will have actual money on him, so he just says, “I get the most valuable thing off of your person if I win.”

A little smirk curls up the corners of his mouth. It’s not like Steve has really anything of monetary value to give. Bucky remembers the first day he saw Steve — he came here with practically nothing.

Steve seems to try to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Same goes for me, then,” he says.

“I don’t think I’m getting such a fair deal,” Bucky says. It’s a joke, but it comes out like an insult. Brock and Pierce snicker behind him, and Steve’s face hardens further.

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says defensively, though there’s a small sprig of doubt in his heart. Aitë is a great dragon — a little smaller, but faster than most and quite in-tune with Steve’s desires. They make a diabolical team.

Bucky waves him off. “Whatever. You’re on,” he says, and reaches out his hand to shake. Steve takes his offered hand, which is much larger than Steve’s. His fingers are nearly swallowed by Bucky’s palm. They shake once and go to their respective dragons — Steve to Aitë, and the Prince to Nyx.

“Around the bay and back to here?” Steve calls from atop his dragon. His hands are wrapped around the reins. Aitë shakes her head and snorts, white smoke puffing out. She seems to feel Steve’s anticipation. The pair go to the cliff, stopping just shy of the edge.

Bucky agrees. “Better keep your word, Rogers.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Bucky turns to call someone forward to count them down.

“Hey, Stark,” Bucky says. “Tell us when to go, yeah?”

Tony presses his lips together but comes forward, lifting his arm in the air. “Get ready,” he says. Bucky tightens his hands on the reins, ready to tell Nyx to kick off. “Get set.”

He sees Steve out of the corner of his eye, patting Aitë lightly on the neck. He can see him say something to her that Bucky doesn’t catch before he grips the reins and leans forward, readying to go.

“Go!” Tony shouts, letting his hand fall.

Steve and Bucky both lift off at the same time, Steve going low and Bucky going high. Bucky sees Aitë tuck her wings in and go for a dive, picking up a lot of speed. Bucky’s left far behind. At the last second, just before they would hit the water below, Aitë opens her wings and glides. Bucky tries to follow his example, going into a dive and pulling up at the last second. The race has only just started and he’s already losing.

They go around the bay, hugging the cliff face. Bucky is catching up, but he’s still very much in second place. The race isn’t going to last very long — if Bucky doesn’t get ahead now, he’s ever going to catch up.

Then he gets an idea. He pulls up on Nyx’s reins, directing her upwards. They’re on the last stretch home when he feels he’s high enough, and has Nyx dive down once more. The extra speed puts them right next to Steve and Aitë. Steve looks over, surprised to see that Bucky’s caught up. Bucky laughs and drives Nyx near Aitë, getting dangerously close. They’re too low to dive. Steve either has to pull up vertical or risk clipping the cliff face with how close Bucky is getting to them. A look of anger twists Steve’s expression. He pulls up suddenly, going vertical. Bucky pulls ahead in the race, laughing joyfully, as he pulls up gradually, heading towards the finish line.

When he lands on top of the cliff, he jumps down and laughs, filled with the happiness that comes with victory. He turns to see where Steve is and how badly he beat him, but all he can see is Aitë circling the water, screeching in a way Bucky’s never heard a dragon screech before. It sounds desperate and afraid.

“Move, asshole!” Sam yells, pushing Bucky out of the way. Sam jumps onto his golden dragon, kicking off and soaring off the cliff quickly. Sam is making his way down to the sea, moving with a speed that dictates franticness.

“What happened?” Bucky asks no one in particular.

Stark looks at Bucky with a detached sort of seriousness.  “Rogers fell into the water when he went straight upwards. He hasn’t come up yet.”

Bucky’s heart sinks right out of his chest. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Bucky is on Nyx’s back again and shooting down to the water below.

Sam is scouting the surface of the water, but Bucky remembers where he made Steve go upwards — he goes to that area and looks around. The water is too dark to see. He’ll just have to make an educated guess.

He dives into the sea off of Nyx’s back, clothes and all. The rush of the water disorients him for a second before he starts to kick his legs, hard. It’s difficult to see in the water, but he luckily spots Steve a few meters down and swims as hard as he can to get him. His eyes are closed, a few bubbles escaping his mouth every so often. Passed out. It seems his leg is caught in a reef.

He reaches Steve and puts his hands under his armpits, trying to pull him free, but Steve won’t budge. Bucky’s chest is starting to feel tight from lack of oxygen. He decides _fuck it_ and pulls Steve’s leg as hard as he can. His boot slips off, laces still tied, but Steve is free. Bucky wraps an arm around his skinny chest and pushes off as hard as he can, swimming hard to the surface. When he makes it out, he gasps for breath, kicking hard with his legs to get to land.

He makes it to the beach, using the rocky cliff face to push off of. He pulls Steve onto the beach, away from the water, and lays him on his back.

“Steve,” Bucky’s saying. “Steve, fuck.”

He falls to his knees next to the boy, hands fluttering, not knowing what to do. What is he supposed to do?

Thankfully, he sees Sam land on the beach, his dragon Hyperion whirling the sand through the air with each flap of his wings. As soon as he’s close enough to the ground, Sam quickly undoes his leg straps and jumps down. “Is he breathing?” he asks, all business.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, starting to panic. His palms are clammy, saltwater and sweat stinging his eyes.

“Move,” Sam says, bumping Bucky aside. Sam takes Steve’s face in both of his hands and leans down, his ear over Steve’s mouth. Then he pulls back and checks for a pulse.

“He’s got a pulse,” Sam says, “but I don’t—”

And then Steve coughs and sits up, water dribbling from his mouth, taking a big mouthful of oxygen. Sam sits back on his heels, shoulders relaxing from relief.

“Fuck, you’re alive,” Sam says in relief. Steve is still coughing, and Sam rubs his back gently to calm him down. When he’s sure that Steve is okay, he gets up and whips around, anger in his eyes, laser-focused on Bucky.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sam yells at him. “Seriously, what is your fucking problem?”

Bucky rushes to try to explain, but Sam is fucking pissed and Bucky doesn’t know how to placate him. “I—Sam, I really didn’t—”

“Fuck off, I’m talking right now!” Sam snaps. Bucky’s mouth shuts with a click.

Sam brushes his hand through his hair, fidgety from the persistence of the emotion he feels. “I used to respect you, man,” he says, and he sounds so fucking disappointed that Bucky’s heart actually breaks. “But now I see that you’re just a huge fucking coward.” He growls in frustration. “Seriously, fuck you, man. He nearly fucking died.”

Steve is getting up behind them. He’s slow on his feet, having just suffered a big loss of oxygen, but he waves Sam off when he tries to help him.

“Stop yelling at him,” Steve says. “It wasn’t his fault. He was just having fun.”

“You just almost died!” Sam yells at Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, “I was there.”

Sam looks like the big vein in his head is about to explode. “There’s a difference between having fun and nearly killing a person, Steve,” Sam retorts. He says it so tiredly, like they’ve had this conversation before.

Steve stands up straight now, with more purpose than before. “I didn’t have all my straps tightened. I wouldn’t have fallen out if I’d just done what I was supposed to,” he says to Sam. Sam seethes quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve looks to Bucky and starts to walk towards him on his mismatched feet, one with a shoe and one without. Bucky feels guilty, for a second, that he couldn’t save Steve’s other shoe.

There’s sand all over him, sticking to his clothes, his hair, his skin. Every step he takes resonates with a watery _smack_. He’s soaked to the goddamn skin. Sea water drips off of him, making trails in the sand stuck to his face. He stops in front of Bucky and there’s a second when nothing happens; it fills Bucky with such apprehension that he’s sure something terrible is about to take place.

Steve lifts his hands and Bucky can’t help it — he flinches. But the punch never comes. He opens his eyes to see Steve reaching around his neck to remove something. A necklace.

He handles it with such tenderness. This thing is not just valuable, it’s _important_. His hands are shaking as he takes one of Bucky’s hands and holds it open, face-up, fingers curling in just slightly. He deposits the necklace into Bucky’s palm, a little heart-shaped charm dangling off the end of it.

“That’s the most valuable thing on my person,” Steve says, and his voice is shaking, gravelly, unstable. Steve almost died and he’s not even angry. _Of all the times to not get angry_.

Bucky’s shaking his head. “Steve, don’t…” he’s saying.

“A bet’s a bet,” Steve says, his voice firmer this time. “I keep my word.”

“Steve,” he says, pleading.

“Take it, Barnes. It’s yours.” He steps back, and his eyes are a little red, but he says nothing else. He calls for his dragon and Sam calls his own, and they both fly back to the clifftop while Bucky just stands there like a fucking idiot. For the first time in his life, he feels exactly like the fraud that he is. He had no idea he could be this disgusted in himself.

Bucky rubs his finger over the charm, feeling the little inscription on one of the sides. He holds it up to see what it is.

It’s a message, in pretty, precise lettering:

 _To Sarah_  
_All my love, Joseph_

Bucky scrubs over his face with his free hand, feeling that he just made a terrible, terrible mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about last chapter's angst! I hope you guys liked it anyway. Here's a slightly longer than usual chapter to make up for it!

####  _BUCKY_

Bucky stands on the beach for a long time, looking at the necklace and wondering how he became this.

When he finally gets back to the top of the cliff, he dismounts from Nyx’s back, feeling a little disoriented, and looks over the sea. The night is starting to fold over the horizon as the sun sets behind him.

“Forget about him,” Rumlow says, clapping Bucky on the back, shattering his train of thought. “He’s just being a bitch about it.” Rumlow’s hand falls from his shoulder as he steps away to return to his dragon, Iacchus.

He looks at the necklace for a very long time, brushing his thumb over the surface. It’s a little worn with a few scratches and divots, but it’s obvious that it’s been well-loved. It’s made of quality silver, polished and shiny.

Brock doesn’t even understand. That’s not why Bucky is upset—he’s upset because he was too absorbed in himself to notice that Steve had fallen into the sea. He’s upset because Steve almost fucking died. He’s upset because Sam and Steve both hate him but he’s starting to think that maybe he deserves it.

He looks at the necklace again. _Sarah. Joseph._ Who are they? Were they friends of Steve’s? Family members? Why would Steve be wearing a necklace that doesn’t belong to him?

At a loss, Bucky brings the necklace to Natasha when he meets her on the hillside, where she’s watching the sunset. He hands the necklace over to her, and watches as she takes it with caution and reverence. Bucky waits patiently as she examines the necklace, taking her time to look at the chain, study the charm’s inscription, and carefully wind it around her fingers. 

Natasha runs her fingertip over the words engraved on the back. She frowns and asks, “He just gave this to you?”

“Well, it was—” He rubs the back of his neck, already knowing that Natasha is going to be disappointed in him. _Again_. “It was a bet. I bet him he couldn’t beat me in a race, and I won. So, he gave me that. Said it was the most valuable thing he owns.”

Natasha looks at the necklace and her forehead is pinched. She’s frowning deeply. Eventually, she just says, “You need to give this back to him. He needs to have it.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, taking the necklace back from her.

“You need to ask him that,” she says, and while Bucky was expecting her to yell at him, he’s glad she didn’t. He wraps the necklace around his palm and hurries back to the dorms, where he’s sure he’ll find Steve.

+++

He waits until curfew to do it. All the trainees are expected to be in their rooms by then and Steve, usually pretty good at following the rules, will most likely be in his room with the door shut by the time allotted.

Bucky’s palms are sweaty and his heart is racing as he approaches the door. There’s the chance that Steve won’t even answer at all, considering what’s happened today. He wouldn’t be surprised if he just slammed the door in his face. But he has to try.

After standing outside the door for several moments while he gathers his courage, Bucky knocks on the door to Steve’s room. Three soft taps.

There’s shuffling behind the door, but no answer comes. Bucky waits for a while, but Steve doesn’t come to the door. Just when he’s about to turn around and leave, the door swings open and Steve’s face comes into view.

When he sees who it is at the door, he looks surprised—and a little annoyed. But it’s obvious now why he took so long to answer the door: his face is blotchy, his eyes are red-rimmed and damp. His nose is bright, and he’s sniffling. He’s been crying. Bucky swallows the lump that’s just formed in his throat.

“What?” Steve asks, his tone flat and harsh.

Bucky blinks for a second before his brain catches up with the present and he says, “I just wanted to apologize—”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Steve says, and starts to close the door.

“Wait!” Bucky exclaims, putting his hand on the door, trying to keep it open. The blond pauses, his gaze now showing the full extent of his irritation with Bucky. “Please, let me explain.”

When Steve keeps staring and doesn’t answer, Bucky takes that as his cue to continue.

“I want to apologize,” he repeats.

“Yeah, I got that part,” Steve says flatly.

“Steve, please,” Bucky begs. Steve presses his lips into a firm line. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For—everything. Everything I did wrong. No matter what you did, you got the shittiest part of the deal every time, and—you didn’t deserve that. Especially today. You deserved to win and I — I played dirty. There’s really no excuse.”

Steve’s gaze softens a little — doesn’t mt, just softens — and he drops his gaze to the floor and sighs. “James,” he says in a low voice, “I appreciate the gesture, but there’s really nothing to forgive. I fell because I wasn’t strapped in right. I wasn’t expecting you to play by my rules. It happened, it’s over, and now we both move on from it, okay? Good night.”

Steve steps back and starts closing the door, and Bucky panics—he _needs_ to talk to Steve, so he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Who’s Sarah?” he blurts, before Steve can close the door all the way.

Steve pauses, not looking at Bucky, but he _pauses,_  and Bucky rushes to continue before can Steve slam the door in his face. He holds up the necklace and gives it back to Steve, who holds it with a tenderness that borders on reverence.

“Was… was she someone important?”

Steve opens the door just a smidge, but Bucky takes it as a win. He doesn’t know whether or not to keep talking, but Steve finally motions for Bucky to come inside his room, stepping aside and looking at him expectantly.

Bucky steps inside hastily, not wanting to hesitate in case Steve changes his mind.

Steve’s room is neat and orderly. Everything is tucked away in its own place, everything is prim and proper, and it’s a stark contrast to Bucky’s room, where there are clothes scattered on the floor and trash littering the room.

“Nice place,” Bucky says, but Steve isn’t interested in semantics.

“Who told you?” Steve demands.

Bucky turns to him. He doesn’t look happy, doesn’t sound welcoming at all. In fact, he looks angry, and he’s never seen Steve angry like this. He saw Steve pissed at him after the team exercise in the forest, but that wasn’t… _this_. That was Steve showing his temper, his distaste for injustice. This is real, tangible anger.

“Told me?” Bucky says haltingly.

“About my mom.” Steve presses his lips together in a sharp line. “Was it Peggy? Natasha?”

Bucky looks at him incredulously. “Sarah is your mom?” he asks.

“Yes,” Steve says, like this fact is obvious. “Look, James. I don’t need your pity. I don’t want it. Okay? So, if that’s what you’re here to do, you can just leave.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, pleading, trying to regain his bearings, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The blond looks at him, eyebrows pinching together like he’s studying a specimen that has him completely puzzled. After a moment, he seems to decide that Bucky is telling the truth.

“No one told you?” Steve asks.

“That Sarah’s your mom? No, no one told me,” Bucky says.

“No, not that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He looks down at the ground, shuffling from foot to foot. All his anger seems to be gone now. The he looks back up, and his eyes are a little red again. “My mom just died.”

Bucky feels the words like a punch to the chest. “W-what?”

“We don’t have the money for a funeral,” Steve says. “We’re already in debt.” He sighs and closes his eyes, a hand moving up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “ _I’m_ in debt. It’s just me. She had a Healer with her nearly ‘round the clock. We were expecting her to pull through until I joined the Guard so I could start paying back some bills, but that obviously didn’t happen. Now it’s just me and I have no idea what to do.”

As Steve talks, something disconnects inside of Bucky and suddenly he’s seeing himself from above. He watches himself, remembers his actions towards Steve during the race—fighting dirty, knocking Steve from his dragon and then calling it _fair game_. He never even gave Steve a chance or a second thought—he was just trying to be menacing and scary, powerful, demanding fear more than respect.

But Steve, all five feet and four inches of him, looks up at Bucky with no fear, no shame.

Bucky really messed up. Steve doesn’t care about competition, he doesn’t care about winning or losing. He cares about people. He cares about his _mother_. And Bucky took the one thing that he had of hers because he’s petty and wanted to show off. Bucky doesn’t actually care about the necklace—he never really did. He probably would have thrown it away and been done with it if he hadn’t felt so fucking guilty about the circumstances in which he won.

And suddenly, Bucky doesn’t feel triumphant anymore. He doesn’t feel like a champion. He feels mean and selfish.

“God, Steve, just—take this.” He starts to work one of his rings off his fingers. “You can sell this in town. It’s worth a lot, it’ll pay off anything you need it to.” He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, showing it to Steve, before trying to deposit it in his palm. But Steve snatches his hand away.

“I told you, I don’t want your pity,” he snaps.

“This isn’t pity,” Bucky insists. “This is me making up for being an ass.”

“I don’t want it, James,” Steve says. “I already forgave you. This is something that I need to do myself.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky says. “Look, Steve, I’m trying to say I’m sorry. Please let me do this. I know you said you forgive me, but—but _I_ don’t forgive me. Please.”

Steve stares at him for a few long seconds before he slowly opens his palm. Bucky drops the ring into it, and Steve closes his fingers over it gently.

“They’re not going to believe this is mine,” Steve says softly. “They’re going to think I stole this.”

“I’ll tell them,” Bucky promises. “Okay? I’ll write a letter and send it with you.”

“It’s fine, James. I’ll deal with it.”

Bucky looks at him with a softened gaze and says, “Call me Bucky.” He smiles gently, trying to make Steve feel a little more at ease.

Steve doesn’t smile back, but says, “Alright. Bucky.” There’s a small pause as Steve glances back down to the floor and says, “I’m gonna go to bed now. Thanks, for this.” He holds up the ring and Bucky nods.

“No thanks necessary,” Bucky says as he turns to go to the door. “You deserve something nice, Steve.”

+++

It’s early morning. Bucky didn’t sleep at all last night, instead replaying his conversation with Steve over and over in his head. The sun has just barely started to come up when Bucky decides to get up and get dressed.

He can probably just mull around the common room for a while, maybe reread the book that he brought when he first came here. It’s an hour or so before roll call, so it’s fine if he just relaxes for a little bit.

When he steps outside his door, book in hand, he nearly steps on a little object that has been lain down in front of his door. Surprised, he almost jumps back — but then he sees what it is.

It’s his ring. The ring that he gave to Steve just last night. He picks it up with a careful hand, examining it closely. Nothing’s different about it, it’s not damaged or changed in any way — it’s just _here_. It’s _here_ when it should be with Steve in his room.

Bucky stalks down the hall and stops in front of Steve’s room and knocks on the door. When Steve doesn’t answer right away, Bucky knocks louder.

“Steve, c’mon,” he says. “Just answer the door.” No response. “Rogers, seriously. I’m not leaving until you answer me. I don’t care how long it takes.”

He knocks again until he hears someone complain loudly about the noise. Bucky drops his hand from the door and just says, “Steve, please.”

In desperation, he tries the doorknob and finds that, strangely enough, the door is unlocked. He opens the door quickly and steps inside, saying, “Steve?”

But Steve isn’t inside, which makes Bucky feel simultaneously like an idiot and also very afraid.

There’s a piece of paper folded in thirds on Steve’s bed. Bucky takes it carefully unfolds it, and finds that it’s a letter.

_To whom it may concern:_

Bucky wants to snort at the polite formality of the letter, but keeps reading.

 _I’m going to be taking a leave of absence. There are family matters I need to attend to.  
__I would like to thank the Director Fury and Assistant Director Romanoff for their splendid hospitality. Thank you for the chance to become one of your own, even if it didn’t pan out.  
__Will you perhaps give me a chance to prove myself in the future? You may change your mind if/when you see me again._  

 _All the best,  
__Steve Rogers_  

_P.S.: I’m taking the dragon with me._

Before he knows what he’s doing, Bucky is running from the dorm. He runs down the hall, not caring that he’s making a racket—his bare feet thump against the wooden floors, loudly, and that’s when he remembers that he doesn’t have his proper riding boots on, but he doesn’t really care right now because Steve is leaving, and he doesn’t know why, but he knows that he has to follow him. He has to go where he’s going because it’s what he needs to do. Wherever Steve goes, Bucky goes, and that’s that.

He rushes out the doors of the building and sees Rumlow outside, loitering near the cliffs, smoking a cigarette. He smiles when he sees Bucky rushing towards him, but then his expression changes when he sees what a rush Bucky is in, and what kind of state he’s in.

Bucky spots Steve. He sees Steve — except he’s on the back of his dragon, about a hundred yards in the air.

“Fuck!” he shouts. He looks around frantically, looking for Nyx. She hates going in the forest — for some fucking reason, he doesn’t know; it’s not like she was _born_ there or anything — so it’s most likely that she’ll be around the training grounds somewhere.

He spots her by the gates, the entrance to the training grounds, curled into a large ball. She seems to be sound asleep, but when Bucky calls for her, she opens her eyes. He starts making his way over when someone steps into his path.

“Whoa there,” Brock says, a big, reptilian smile on his face. “Where are you off to? You leaving so soon?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, pushing past him to get to Nyx.

Brock steps right back in front of him. “You gonna be back soon?” he asks.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Bucky says, trying to get around Brock, but the boy is making it difficult. Finally he grabs his arm and shoves him to the side, clearing a path for him to get to his dragon. Brock jogs behind him to catch up.

“What!” he exclaims. “Why? We haven’t even finished training yet. We’re on the home stretch, buddy!”

“I just need to go,” Bucky says, walking through the dirt. “I’m not staying here anymore. Leave me _alone_ , Brock,” he adds with a note of frustration, when Brock won’t let up.

But Brock won’t leave him alone. He’s sticking to close to Bucky’s side, and Bucky growls in annoyance when Brock puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Bucky asks, a slow, apprehensive feeling unfolding in Bucky’s stomach. Brock has been very apathetic, with an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude until right this very moment, when Bucky wants to leave. He’s acting fucking weird, too.

Brock drops his hand, a tight smile on his face. “No reason. You’re my friend, is all.”

“Right,” Bucky says sarcastically. He starts to climb onto Nyx’s back when Brock grabs Bucky’s arm and jerks him back. Bucky stumbles down to the ground. Actually ticked-off now, Bucky says, “What the fuck, Brock?”

Brock just shakes his head, moving to stand between Bucky and his dragon. “I can’t let you leave,” he says, all matter-of-fact, and seriously, _what the fuck?_

“Is that so,” Bucky says, his hands shaking. He’s fucking pissed.

“Yeah,” Brock says. “You’re fucking up the plan, Barnes.”

“You can take your plan and stick it, Rumlow,” Buck growls. “Nyx, bite his ass.”

Nyx huffs and starts to stand, a growl bubbling from her mouth. She looked angry when Rumlow threw him down, but was seeming to follow Bucky’s example of not beating the shit out of him. Now, she stands, and her claws scrape against the dirt in a terrifying way. Rumlow, seeming to understand that he’s fucked up real badly now, scrambles out of the way while Bucky quickly jumps onto Nyx’s back, shoves his legs into the buckles, and kicks off, in the direction Steve went.

He can see Steve, just barely, in the distance. He urges Nyx to go faster, but he knows that Aitë probably has him beat. He’ll have to hope that Steve stops somewhere so he can catch up. Bucky hears a commotion behind him. He chances a look over his shoulder. Brock is running around frantically, and someone else arrives on the scene — Bucky catches one glimpse of his red hair and knows it’s Alexander. If that weren’t enough to tip him off, the sight of his giant, deep-blue dragon, Lelantos, chases any doubt from his mind.

Bucky turns back around with a gasp, hugging tight around Nyx’s neck. Alexander and Brock are going to follow him. He knows it. Heart starting to beat at an erratic rate, Bucky urges Nyx to go faster.

####  _STEVE_

He’s ninety percent sure that he’s going in the right direction. There are stories that he’s heard of the miracle-worker. Some people claim he’s a fraud, others claim he’s the real deal. But everyone agrees that he lives to the north side of the kingdom, deep in the eternally-green forest. Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he’s sure he’ll know it when he sees it.

After about an hour and a half of flying, Steve spirals down gently to the ground after spotting a river. Aitë needs a drink, and he could stand to fill his canteen — he forgot to before he left. When he lands, he takes a survey of the land around him. Mostly flat grasslands, but he can spot a forest near him, and mountains after that. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take to get to the miracle worker, but he’s sure it won’t take longer than two weeks. One week if he hurries.

He stoops down to fill his canteen, noticing how clear and cold the water is. For midsummer, this is truly good luck. He takes a long drink and wipes his mouth with his forearm. Then he refills it again and caps it.

Aitë has dumped her head in the river and gotten moss stuck on her horns. Steve laughs and she huffs at him, displeased.

The miracle worker is the answer to his problems, he thinks. He can do most anything, Steve knows, as long as he proves himself. Steve thinks that he can do that.

He’s just about to take another drink of his water when something startles him — the nearing sound of something big. Steve turns to see where the origin of the sound is coming from and sees a small shape in the sky, becoming bigger and more defined… another dragon?

As it gets closer and closer, Steve sees how fast its coming in. Really fast. And headed for the ground. Aitë looks up from her drinking and huffs black smoke from her nose in warning.

The other dragon is nearly on top of them when Steve recognizes it as Nyx, Bucky’s dragon. She hits the ground running, sending grass and dirt flying as they land only a few yards away from Steve and Aitë. Steve shields his face, coughing as he inhales dust, accidentally dropping his canteen.

“Bucky?” Steve coughs. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Go,” Bucky gasps. “Go—Steve, they’re coming!”

Steve looks at him in confusion, and then looks over Bucky’s head to see what he means—two riders, rocketing in on their dragons, screaming through the air as fire spills from their maws.

“Oh, shit,” Steve curses, and grabs his canteen from the ground. He quickly climbs on and secures himself and Bucky takes off just a split second before Steve.

The riders chasing them are, sadly, quite skilled — they are not amateurs. Steve is curious as to who they are but doesn’t want to wait around to find out.

Bucky and Steve fly as quickly as they can to — somewhere. Steve is heading north when he gets an idea.

“In here!” Steve calls, pointing to the expanse of forest that’s just coming up below them. Steve’s never been to these parts before — he has no idea what forest this is, if it’s safe, or whatever else. But he decides that it must be better than dealing with these two angry dragon riders.

“Wait for a clearing!” Steve calls. He sees one, just ahead. Bucky can see it too, but when Steve looks to him, he’s never seen Bucky look so unsure, so terrified, as he looks right now.

“It’s our only shot!” Steve shouts at Bucky, and he seems to decide something. He wraps his arms tightly around Nyx’s neck, hugging her close as they shoot through the air.

“C’mon, Nyx, you can do this,” Steve hears Bucky say to her. “C’mon, c’mon—” The clearing is just ahead. They have to dive _now_. Bucky urges Nyx to dive into the trees, and she does it flawlessly, diving into the clearing and then running when they hit the ground. They disappear out of sight, and Steve follows a millisecond after, repeating Bucky’s performance.

Aitë tucks in her wings and dives, hitting the ground hard. Steve jumps up, glad he remembered to tighten his straps or else he would’ve been a fucking goner. Aitë tears through the trees, running hard under the canopy, disappearing from the view of the dragon riders. Steve just hopes they won’t follow.

Once Steve is sure that Aitë has run at least half a mile away from the clearing they dived into, Steve urges her to stop. Bucky, just to his right, stops Nyx as well, unfastening himself and jumping down.

When Bucky hits the ground he asks, “You think they followed?”

Steve shakes his head. “I haven’t seen them for a while,” he says.

To which Bucky grins and screams, “Fuck yes!” a little too loudly. He pats Nyx’s neck excitedly. “You were fucking incredible,” he tells her. Nyx snorts, apparently appreciating the sentiment.

Steve shushes him, listening around. When nothing seems to happen, he takes a deep breath and goes for his canteen. He takes a big drink, trying to get the dry, air-blown taste out of his mouth. Then, figuring that he might as well continue on his journey, angry murderous riders or no angry murderous riders, he starts heading north once again. Aitë follows on foot.

Steve hears shuffling as Bucky tries to keep up. “Where are you going?”

Steve looks at Bucky. “I don’t know where you’re going,” he says, “but I’m going to a miracle worker. I don’t know if he’ll help me, but I have to try.”

Bucky looks at Steve with a face like, _Are you fucking serious right now._ “Steve,” he says. “You left training to go visit a _miracle worker_? Weird guys who sell coffee beans and tell you that eating ten of them a day will cure your every ailment? That kind of miracle worker?”

“No,” Steve says, defensively. “My miracle worker actually works miracles, and he’s going to help me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “So say he does what he says he does. They still make you do weird, random quests that are supposed to be meaningful but aren’t.”

“Yep,” Steve says cheerily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

This forest is different from the enchanted forest that surrounds the training grounds. There seems to be a lack of magical creatures, and the trees don’t respond to pleasantries or rudeness. Steve finds himself quite disappointed with this fact.

“What, so you’re just going to wish for your debt to be paid off?” Bucky says, very much not leaving Steve alone. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to sell the ring in the village?”

“I’m going to a miracle worker, not a wizard,” Steve says with a frown. He turns around to face the Prince. “Besides, I’m not going to wish for my debt to be paid off. I’m gonna ask for a fair chance.”

“What?” Bucky asks, confused. “A fair chance at what?”

Steve presses his lips tightly together. “Anything. Life. The Guard. Whatever.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. “Why?” he questions, sounding genuinely curious.

The blond shoulders his bag a little tighter, stands up just a tiny bit straighter. “Because I need to do this myself,” he answers.

They’ve walked far enough to reach an incline. Steve wonders if they’re at the foothills of the mountain. That would be fantastic.

“You could wish for anything in the world, Steve,” Bucky insists. “Unlimited money. For you to be accepted into the Guard. Why not ask for that?”

Keep staring forward. Steve holds on tight to his bag and frowns even more deeply. “I need to do it myself,” he says. “If I just _have_ it, I never earned my place. And then I don’t know if I deserved it or not.”

There’s a small pause while Steve just keeps walking and Bucky is lost in thought. Then he says, very decidedly, “I’m coming with you.”

Steve scoffs. “Like hell you are,” he grumbles.

This only serves to make Bucky angrier. “Where am I supposed to go, huh? Back to camp?” he retorts.

“I don’t need your help, Bucky,” Steve snaps. “I can do this by myself.”

There’s a quiet moment. Then, “I know you can.”

Steve’s head whips around so fast that he nearly pulls a muscle. He stares at Bucky with wide eyes, and he realizes that this is the first time that someone who wasn’t his mother has said that to him.

“I know you can do it by yourself,” Bucky continues in a soft voice. “You’ve always been capable, Steve — I ain’t contesting that.”

Steve feels strange. Like his skin is buzzing. “What are you contesting, then?”

“You being alone for such a long journey.”

Steve stares long and hard at Bucky, and something shifts in his chest. Ever since the race, Bucky’s personality has done a complete one-eighty. Steve doesn’t know which side of Bucky is real — but he has a feeling that the Bucky that wouldn’t stand up for anyone, much less himself, was the one that was the facade all along.

“Alright,” Steve says. “Let’s go, then.”


	8. Chapter 8

####  _STEVE_

Bucky is…

He’s a fucking nerd.

He’s curious about practically everything. At first it was a little annoying to ask Bucky to keep up, because he’d get sidetracked by something he found interesting, like a bug or a tree or a fucking _rock_ , but after a while it was a little endearing to see him — future king of the nation — so interested by things he’s found just taking a walk.

“What, you’ve never been outside before, Barnes?” Steve asks, teasing.

Bucky blushes and looks down. “I never really went outside the castle walls,” he admits, and Steve looks at him with a surprised expression.

“Really?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “I mean, I’ve been outside the walls. I’ve been far from home, but that’s always by carriage. And then when I come home I go right inside.” He pauses. “If you’re outside, you’re exposed, you know? Anything can happen, I guess. But inside… it’s a lot harder to get inside.”

Considering the events that brought Bucky to Steve on this journey in the first place, he knows what Bucky’s trying to say.

Steve wonders what that’s like, growing up with a target on your back. Well, he guesses he sorta knows that already. Just in a different sense.

 

Bucky is smart. He never got an education in a classroom with other students, but he’s smart. At night, he points out the constellations in the sky, or at least the stars that can poke through the canopy of the trees overhead.

It’s like being stuck in a bottle. You can walk around the edges but you’re in the same place.

Steve can’t help but talk to Bucky, and Bucky can’t help but talk to Steve. Steve is a lot more vague in his answers than Bucky is, and he feels bad on some level.

But the truth is that he’s still reeling from his mother’s death. He still wakes up in the morning, confused about what he’s doing, and then he remembers — he’s going to get his fair chance and then he’s going to join the Guard and pay off the debts he owes everyone. Steve wants to get close to this boy, because he feels like balm on the wound. He feels like novocain. But Steve shouldn’t numb the pain of his mother’s death — he needs to feel it. He needs to know that this is what it’s going to be like for the rest of his life, like there’s a hole in his heart where his mother should be.

But it feels like it did on the first day they met, like there’s something that is so close to being there, so close to existing, but not quite yet. It makes Steve feel so good. It makes him forget.

Bucky seems to be feeling the same thing, too, if Steve isn’t reading the signs wrong. He bumps playfully into Steve as they walk, throws his arm around his shoulder in a way that’s friendly rather than condescending. It’s like, whatever was hindering him before has disappeared, and he’s free to be himself now. It’s a jarring and pleasant change.

At night, they make camp underneath the forest canopy. They’ve been walking in this forest for days now. Steve wonders how big it could possibly be.

Nighttime usually means that Bucky plays twenty questions with him. They talk and talk, back and forths about everything and nothing.

One night, about five days into their journey, the pair of them are lying on the ground, pine needles scattered on the forest floor beneath them. They seem to have entered mountainous terrain two days back, and the deciduous trees of the grasslands have melted into the coniferous trees of higher, colder elevations.

It’s much easier to see the stars through the conifers. Steve stares up at them as Bucky begins to ask his questions.

“Where did you grow up?” he asks, turning a little on his side to get a good look at Steve. Steve stays focused on the stars, their mesmerizing, twinkling light bringing Steve a quiet peace.

“I lived near the Sunflower Fields,” he says. He swivels his head to look at Bucky now. “Have you ever been there?”

“No,” Bucky answers. His eyes are soft, he’s got a small little smile on his face.

A sudden pang of longing fills Steve’s chest. Trying to articulate what he wants, he says, “I want to… I want to show them to you.” Yes. That sounds about right. “They’re so beautiful. I just want to lie in them with you, watch the clouds, sit in the sun.”

Lie there and nap with him, sleep in the fields with him in the afternoon. Recline there, head on his chest, and listen to his heartbeat. So strong and real. He wants to be there, with Bucky, surrounded by the flowers.

_Look at him. Look at each other. Breathe. Lean in —_

Steve jerks the thought right out of his head. _No_. It’s not going to happen.

“How are you real?” Bucky asks him. “God, you’re like a dream.” He says it like it’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s not a joke to either of them. He smiles with him anyway.

“You sayin’ you like me, Barnes?” Steve teases.

But the tease falls flat. Bucky is deathly quiet. Just when Steve is about to apologize, Bucky beats him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Steve sits up and looks at him. “For what?” he asks.

Bucky looks up at him from his spot on the ground. There are tears in his eyes. “For hurting you.”

“Bucky, I told you—”

“I know. I know you told me,” Bucky says. “But I just. I shouldn’t have done it. I thought Pierce and Brock were my friends. They told me you were the enemy, and I believed them instead of thinking for myself. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s gaze softens. “Bucky, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Wanting to feel accepted. Wanting to feel wanted.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “Looks like we both wanted the same things all along. Just tried different things to get them.”

The tears gathering in Bucky’s eyes finally fall. Steve lies back down, closer to Bucky now than last time.

“Steve,” he says, his voice breaking. “I know… I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven. But I’m real sorry about the necklace. I didn’t know that it meant so much to you.”

Steve stares at the sky above them. Quietly, he says, “It’s okay, Bucky.”

But Bucky isn’t finished. He clears his throat and goes on to say, “Uh… Living like I did, I never had something of personal value to me before… when I was a kid, I roamed around the castle like it was a museum. I was too afraid to touch anything in case it was irreplaceable or expensive. And then, when I was finally old enough to be careful, I didn’t know how to attach sentimental value to anything. Everything I owned was picked out by someone else. So I guess I just… I didn’t understand that a… a _thing_ could mean so much to a person.”

Steve looks over at Bucky to see him staring at Steve with big, sad eyes. When Steve doesn’t reply, at a loss for what to say, Bucky clears his throat and averts his eyes to the night sky with a muffled, “Sorry.”

For a long time, Steve delves into his mind, thinking over what Bucky has said, until he finally replies with, “I didn’t think about that.”

Bucky, probably on the verge of sleep, hums in askance.

But Steve just continues like nothing’s amiss. “I guess I assumed that because you had things that were important, they would mean the same to you, like my mother’s necklace means to me. But they’re just things that you know are important. They’re not things that are important _to you._ ” Steve laughs. “It’s like having the Holy Grail and using it every day. After a while, it’s not really the Holy Grail anymore. It’s just a cup.”

Bucky groans a little. “Steve, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Steve smiles a little and glances over at Bucky, where the Prince has got one eye open to glare at Steve for keeping him awake.

Steve feels a hot rush of affection for this boy, and is startled by the realization. After a tense moment, Steve says, “Nothing. Go back to bed, Buck.”

The Prince chuckles a little and says, “Only _you_ would shorten a nickname,” before closing his eyes and turning over onto his side, lying his head on Nyx’s large foot, avoiding the claws, to get more comfortable. His breathing evens out not a minute later, and Steve knows that he’s gone to sleep.

+++

They’re walking. Always walking. Steve fears they’ve gone past the house and wants to turn back. He wants to get a view from the sky, but can’t see the ground when the trees are in the way. Aitë is getting uncomfortable from not having stretched her wings in so long.

 

“What if we missed it?” Steve asks Bucky late one afternoon. The farther they walk, the more Steve thinks that he’s sure they missed it. That they have to go back.

“We didn’t miss it,” Bucky says.

“But what if we did?” Steve asks. “We’ll have to turn around. Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky says firmly. “You’re panicking over nothing. What if we didn’t pass it? Then we’d turn around before we ever got there. That’s even worse.”

Steve looks at Bucky with big, pleading eyes, and Bucky seems to gather his courage for something.

“I have a question to ask you,” he says.

Steve looks up at Bucky, confused and surprised, and says, “Yeah?”

There’s a pause. He takes a deep breath, exhales. “What if…” Bucky starts. He looks worried. “What if you didn’t go to the miracle-worker, and we just left?”

Another pause. “Left,” Steve says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah, like…” He looks like he’s trying to find the right words. “Like we just lived like this, forever. With Aitë and Nyx.”

Steve thinks about it.

The idea is tempting, really.

It would be nice to do this forever. To travel the world with Bucky, on the backs of dragons, having nothing and no one to return to. Finding home within each other, leaving their responsibilities behind.

He thinks about it some more.

It just sounds too much like running away.

“Buck,” he says, pressing his lips together in a firm line. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

But Bucky looks unconvinced. “Sure we can. It’s the easiest thing in the world, Steve. We just keep going.”

Steve huffs, annoyed. “Bucky, no. I’ve never run away from a fight and I’m not about to start now.”

Bucky flushes a dark red and tucks his chin into his chest, ashamed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

He immediately regrets his choice of words. “No,” Steve says, reaching out to put his hand on his shoulder. “Bucky, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I just…” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “If things were different, I would take you up on that offer. Okay?

“But there are people out here looking for us. I can’t just disappear with you forever. There are things we need to get back to, eventually. You need to become king, and I…” He grits his teeth and says, “And I need to do this and pay back the people who helped me. I can’t just run away from that. They deserve to… they deserve to be repaid.”

Bucky nods and Steve feels like a real asshole.

“Buck…” he starts.

 _We are destined for greatness_ , he wants to say. _We are destined to fight battles, to win wars. We are destined to be wonderful, to be awesome in the Biblical sense. We are destined to be inspiring, to be the heroes of our time. We are destined to become kings, demi-gods, legends, fairy tales, even horror stories. Just, not together. Not side-by-side._

What he actually says is, “I think we should make camp for the night.

####  _BUCKY_

The farther they get into the woods, the more Steve keeps doubting and second-guessing himself and it’s driving Bucky insane.

Back at training, Steve did what he did with no hesitation. He didn’t second-guess himself or fight against it. He went with his instinct and did it.

But now that they’re going to the miracle-worker, Bucky can see that Steve is getting insecure. He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be insecure. Steve has nothing to prove anyone else. And bucky’s afraid that the miracle-worker is going to take that away from him. Steve has nothing to prove.

He needs to love himself like this before the miracle-worker changes him.

He tries to say it in the only way he knows how. Hands shaking.

Bucky asks, “What if… what if we didn’t go the miracle-worker, and just left?”

Steve looks at him. “Left,” Steve says. Flat, no emotion.

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, shifting side to side nervously. “Yeah, like… like we just lived like this, forever. With Aitë and Nyx.”

“Buck,” he says, and Bucky already knows the answer is ‘no’ by the tone of his voice. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

But Bucky doesn’t want to give up on this dream so easily. It’s perfect. Nothing and no one to worry about but themselves. It’s a fantastic idea, this escape. It would work. “Sure we can,” he insists. “It’s the easiest thing in the world, Steve. We just keep going.”

“Bucky, no. I’ve never run away from a fight and I’m not about to start now.”

Steve’s words tell him what Bucky really means by his offer, and he doesn’t want to hear it. _I’m too weak to keep fighting._ Bucky flushes a dark red and tucks his chin into his chest, ashamed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Steve immediately goes to comfort Bucky, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he breathes. “Bucky, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I just…” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “If things were different, I would take you up on that offer. Okay?

Bucky looks up at Steve timidly through his eyelashes.

Steve says, gentler, “But, there are people out here looking for us. I can’t just disappear with you forever. There are things we need to get back to, eventually. You need to become king, and I…” He pauses, and then continues through gritted teeth, “And I need to do this and pay back the people who helped me. I can’t just run away from that. They deserve to… they deserve to be repaid.”

Bucky nods, feeling stupid and naive. How could he think that Steve would take him up on this offer? Of course he wouldn’t.

“Buck…” he starts. But then he stops and just says, “I think we should make camp for the night.”

+++

“I see something,” Bucky says. It’s the next morning. They haven’t talked about last night, about the things Bucky said. They pretend it didn’t happen, but Bucky still feels a boiling in his stomach.

He points in the distance. Above the trees, there’s a little plume of smoke.

“Smoke?” Steve asks. “Could it be a dragon?”

“No, it’s too concentrated. It’s probably a chimney,” Bucky says.

“A chimney?” Steve asks, and sounds excited, like a little puppy. He should be excited. They haven’t seen a house in about a week now. “Well, come on!” he says, grinning ear-to-ear, he grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls him along. Bucky laughs.

“Steve, you crazy fucker, would you slow down?” Bucky calls, but Steve is having none of that. Aitë and Nyx bound alongside them, shaking the ground with the enthusiasm of their steps. It makes Bucky laugh even harder.

Finally, Steve spots the source of the smoke. He skips to a stop, causing the dragons to stop suddenly as well. A million pine needles go flying.

It’s a small, little hut, with trinkets hanging from the roof. Windchimes, oil lamps, glass figurines and magical wards. This is the place. It’s the only house they’ve seen in days. This must be it. And this, a forest full of coniferous trees, must be the eternally-green forest…

“Should we knock?” Steve asks, approaching the house slowly as if it will somehow lash out like an animal.

“Let’s see,” Bucky says, and urges Steve to the door faster. Nailed onto the front door is a sign that says, _ALL ARE WELCOME._

“I like the sound of that,” Bucky says, and opens the door without preamble and steps inside while Steve sputters in indignation behind him.

Bucky stops right in his tracks after taking three steps inside.

The size of the hut was misleading. On the outside, it looked, perhaps, like a hundred square feet in total. _Inside_ , the ceiling towers upwards, so far away that it almost disappears into darkness. There are church-sized stained glass windows on the far wall of an eagle soaring towards a four-pointed star. A staircase circles upwards along the wall to some unseeable floor. That must be where the miracle-worker is.

“We’re here,” Steve says, voice echoing throughout the chamber.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, looking at Steve. “We’re here.”

Steve stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. Should Bucky just wait here until Steve gets back? Should Bucky go with him?

Steve takes a hesitant step towards the staircase. It seems that Bucky is waiting here.

“I guess—this is goodbye, then. For now,” Steve says. His tone makes it sound like a question.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

He wants to say more, but he doesn’t even know how to put it in words. So he just says, “See you then.”

He’s almost to the first landing when Bucky calls out to him, can’t take it anymore.

“Steve, wait,” Bucky shouts and starts jogging towards him.

Steve turns around in time to see Bucky halfway up the first staircase, almost tripping in his haste. But then he’s right there in front of Steve and he’s taking his face in his hands and suddenly — their lips are pressed together.

The kiss takes them both by surprise, considering they’re ten feet away from Steve’s unclear future, but the feeling only lasts so long before Steve’s hands move to grab Bucky’s shirt, holding on tight with both hands, and he’s kissing Bucky back. He lets out a little puff of breath through his nose. Bucky is surprised and excited at the same time, especially when Steve moves his hand from Bucky’s chest to cradle the back of his neck.

They part after barely a moment, Steve breaking the kiss before it could deepen, because then he’d be in _real_ trouble and he needs all of his senses if he’s ever going to see the miracle-worker.

“I know you have to do this,” Bucky says. His eyes are closed tight, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “But I couldn’t let you go without… doing something.”

Steve grips tight to Bucky’s arm, eyes closing softly. “How am I supposed to go now, huh?” he asks. “Now that I know?”

Bucky chuckles. “I know, I’m very tempting.”

Steve pinches his arm and Bucky yelps. “Smart-ass,” he gripes.

“You can do it, Steve,” he says, after a moment of soft silence. “Whatever this guy has in store for you, you can do it.” He looks down at the ground, and they’re so close that Steve can still see the sheepish look of guilt flash in Bucky’s eyes. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You’ve always been capable, Steve. I was just too stupid to see it.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that,” Steve quips with a smile.

“Good at what?”

“Being stupid.”

“I’m trying to make a point, pal,” Bucky says, narrowing his eyes. But Steve can see the smile threatening to show on his face.

“Point received,” Steve says with a little grin. He leans up on his tiptoes to give Bucky another kiss on the mouth. “It’s really not a big deal, Buck. This is just something I’ve gotta do.”

“You don’t hafta prove yourself, Stevie,” Bucky says. “You really don’t.”

“I know I don’t,” Steve says. “I’m not doing this for anyone else but me, okay?”

But Bucky still looked to have his doubts. Steve knew that he couldn’t make him believe, but he could tell him until it sunk in, at least. But he didn’t have time for that. “I have to go,” Steve says, a little reluctant twist to his mouth. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says dismissively. Steve puts his palms on either side of Bucky’s head and tilts it downwards so he can give his forehead a kiss, as gentle and reassuring as Steve can make it.

Bucky sighs softly, almost too soft for Steve to hear. But he catches the sound — can feel Steve grin against his skin.

Bucky breaks away this time, saying, “Didn’t we come here to do something else?”

Steve laughs and says, “I guess. I should probably go, huh?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Go on, buddy. I’ll be right here.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter! It's more of an epilogue than anything, so it's a little short. Tbh, I had a lot more planned that I couldn't fit into this work, I'm probably revisit it soon, after I update my other WIP. I loved writing this, I don't want to leave questions unanswered!
> 
> I just want it to be noted that I thought this work was going to be 5,000 words, tops. And now look at it! Over 35K! WHOA
> 
> Anyway, you should visit [ookaookaooka's tumblr](ookaookaooka.tumblr.com) to view more of her wonderful art!  
> [I am also on tumblr,](http://notbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) and I cry a lot about Steve.

####  _STEVE_

It’s a long walk to the top of the tower. Steve has to stop several times to catch his breath. His knees ache from the climb, his face is sweating, but he keeps going. The higher he gets up, the more intricate his surroundings become. The walls are painted with colorful murals, the windows are stained glass. The wooden staircase has beautiful geometric designs carved in. He feels bad stepping on it.

It takes twenty minutes to walk up there, but he finally reaches the top. There’s a landing, just simple stone. No intricacies. A simple, radius-topped door. The wood looks old and weathered. Steve feels like it looks out of place among the stained-glass windows and colorful murals, but it somehow manages to fit in perfectly. An oil lamp provides some light.

Steve goes over to the door and stands in front of it for a very long time. Doubts run though his mind, but he pushes them aside. This is more important than doubt. He knocks gently three times.

Almost immediately, the door opens to reveal a man wearing a simple, brownish garb. His hair is white and fluffy, his beard is gray and nicely trimmed. He wears spectacles that rest near the end of his nose. Steve doesn’t know him, but decides immediately that he likes him.

“Hello,” the man says, and his voice is heavily accented.

“Hi,” Steve says. “I’m here to see the miracle-worker.”

The man nods, his eyes flicking over Steve’s appearance like he’s sizing him up.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he says. He beckons with his free hand. “Come inside.” Steve comes inside and is greeted by a sight that reminds him of his home that he had with his mother — pale walls, hanging trinkets, the smell of burning sage. Steve breathes in deeply and feels completely peaceful for the first time in months.

“My name is Abraham Erskine,” the man says. “I believe I may be the one you’re looking for. Sit, please.”

Erskine motions for him to sit at a chair, which Steve does. He sits while Erskine digs out a pencil and a piece of paper. “Ah, yes,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and then I’ll see if I think I should give you a miracle or not. Deal?”

“Deal,” Steve says amiably.

The man pushes his glasses up his nose, only to have them fall right back down.“What made you want this miracle?” the miracle-worker asks.

Steve thinks. “Uh, I want to be in the Royal Guard,” he says. “Among other things. But that was… what made me realize.”

The miracle-worker nods. “You want to be part of the war? Kill our enemies?”

Steve blinks at the bluntness of the statement. “Excuse me?” he asks.

The miracle-worker just looks at him, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “I’m Abraham Erskine,” he says, instead of answering Steve’s question.

“Steve Rogers,” he replies.

Erskine nods. “Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” he asks, after a long pause.

“The plains,” Steve answers. “Two miles north of the Sunflower Fields.”

“A farmboy?” Erskine asks. Steve shrugs.

“A lot of people in that area are farmers,” he says. “We—my mom and I—we mostly sold herbs or flowers with magical properties, but that was about it.”

Erskine blinks slowly at him. “Are you a Healer?” he asks.

“My mom i—was,” he corrects. A lump forms in his throat, and he quickly swallows it down. Not the time.

“I see,” Erskine says. “A Healer’s son turned Knight. Or, not quite?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

The miracle-worker hums. “I’m not worried that you didn’t get there, Mr. Rogers. I’m interested in the try. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you want to kill the kingdom’s enemies?”.

Steve’s brow creases at the question. It almost confuses him, it sounds like a trick—because the answer is so simple, it obviously can’t be true.

“Is this a test?” he asks.

Erskine thinks for a split second and says, in his heavily accented voice, “Yes.”

He swallows and goes with his gut instinct—answer honestly, even if it isn’t what the man might want to hear. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he says. “I just don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

It’s just a second before Erskine smiles. “Come here, my boy,” he says. “Lie on the table.”

Steve climbs on the table and lies down on his back. He stares at the ceiling. There are bundles of dried sage hanging down, small wind chimes and colorful mobiles. It’s relaxing to watch, almost distracting him from hearing Erskine’s questions.

“What is it you wish for?” he asks.

Steve chews on his lips and answers, “A… a fair chance.”

“That’s awfully vague,” Erskine says, a funny little twist to his mouth. “But I understand what you mean. Why do you want that, above everything else?”

Steve blinks. He’s known the answer so long, lived with it for so long, he feels like he doesn’t even have to explain it anymore — it should be obvious.

“I’m…” His mouth twists in displeasure. “I’m good enough, you know? It’s just that no one else sees that. They don’t care unless you look the part.”

“This is true,” Erskine says. He smiles. “Hence, the way my house looks on the outside. Everyone expects cathedral ceilings and marble staircases from a miracle-worker. They expect castles and extravagance. Only someone who really needs a miracle would try knocking on a cottage door.”

Steve smiles, feeling understood completely. It’s a rare thing in his life.

“I will give you your miracle,” Erskine says, a kind smile on his face. He is mixing ingredients of some sort in a cup.  “No cost to you, okay? You do what you must, just promise me this.” Steve nods, eager. “Promise me you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”

“I promise,” Steve says.

“This… this may hurt,” Erskine says, apologetically. “But I need you to drink this.”

Steve takes the cup from Erskine’s hands and looks inside. It seems to be a mixture of flower petals, herbs, spices, and other things. But it smells — strange. It smells like electricity, like ozone. It makes the hairs on Steve’s arms stand up. He downs the whole thing without a second thought.

####  _BUCKY_

Bucky stares at Steve as he ascends flight after flight of stairs. Eventually he has to turn away. The more he watches, the more nervous he becomes.

Miracle-workers are known for making their clients go on quests to prove themselves, which Bucky thinks is absolute bullshit in this case. The reason why Steve is here is because he kept proving himself but people still wouldn’t give him the time of day.

He hopes that this miracle-worker doesn’t make Steve do something like that. They’ve come all this way. They deserve _something_.

Bucky goes outside to wait, where Nyx and Aitë have been waiting patiently, reclining on the forest floor. Nyx perks up at the sight of him, and Aitë tilts her head as if to say, “ _And the other one? Where is he?_ ” Bucky smiles at her and pats her nose reassuringly.

“He’ll be out soon,” Bucky tells her. She puts her head down, resting it on the ground.

There’s a break in the trees, up ahead. Bucky’s sure that they could take off from there. There should be enough space for Nyx and Aitë to spread their wings.

Bucky’s deep in thought, thinking about the kiss he shared with Steve a few minutes ago. He likes Steve a lot, could possibly even love him someday. He wants to be with him. Steve is the only person who seems like a good choice for Bucky. Every person that he’s been interested in the past has been for the sake of his image, for the sake of his mother’s approval. Steve may or may not get his mother’s approval, but that doesn’t really matter to Bucky. Steve is good for Bucky. Steve makes him a better person. Steve makes him _want_ to be a better person.

He’s mulling over ways to bring this up to Steven when a loud noise startles him. Bucky turns around, looking for the source, when it comes again.

Screaming.

From the miracle-worker’s house.

Bucky tears inside, reels at the size of the inside and waits. The screaming comes again, echoing throughout the tower. It sounds so far away. When he was outside, it felt louder.

Steve is screaming. Bucky needs to help him.

The upstairs is so far away, but there’s no way Bucky can fit the dragons through the door. He starts running up the stairs, hoping that he can possibly make it in time to save Steve. Fuck, there’s no fucking way that he can get to the top of the stairs in time. He’s only a third of the way up and he’s out of breath. There’s no fucking way —

The screaming stops.

It’s suddenly, horribly, deathly quiet.

Bucky continues running up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the chamber, his heavy breathing resonating back inside his own ears. _Steve._

There’s a sound — a squeaky door. If that’s the fucking miracle worker, Bucky’s about to beat his head right into his ass and make him walk like that for hurting Steve.

Two thirds of the way up, and he hears something else.

“Bucky,” says a voice. Bucky looks up from the ground to see a man coming towards him. Tall and blond. Deep voice. Broad shoulders. Funny, looking at his face, he looks just like—

“Steve?” Bucky asks, confused.

Steve(?) smiles and says, “It’s a miracle, huh?”

After a moment of pure shock, Bucky understands now what “fair chance” means — it means whatever Steve already had on the inside is pulled right out to the surface, for everyone to see. _It’s only fair_.

“Oh my fuck, you’re okay,” Bucky says in relief. He laughs like it’s been punched out of him, breathy and reassured, because yes, that’s definitely Steve. And he’s _okay_. “Thought you were smaller,” he remarks.

Steve saunters on over to him, walking down the steps with something that can only be classified as grace. And then he stops in front of Bucky and — what the fuck, he’s taller than Bucky now.

“The hell,” Bucky whispers, looking at Steve’s new body. “Miracle-worker made you fucking ripped.” His hand runs over Steve’s newly broad shoulders, his muscular arms and square jaw.

“You like it?” Steve asks, and Bucky stops, knowing what Steve is really asking. _Is it better than the old one?_

“It’s gonna take some getting used to,” Bucky answers. “I’d have you either way, if I’m being honest.”

Steve is still looking at him expectantly, so Bucky smiles and says, “But yeah, I like it. It’s you, Steve. Of course I like it.”

Steve grins at him, big and toothy, and Bucky feels his heart beat wildly in his chest as Steve leans down to plant a quick kiss on his lips.

“You flatter me,” he says, “But I’m glad. I don’t think I can return it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and says, “We can go, right? Aitë wants to see you.”

“Does she, now?” Steve says, amused. “You must have the wrong dragon. She always acts very unimpressed with me.”

“I swear,” Bucky says, holding up his right hand as they start to head down the stairs. “She told me herself.”

 

Aitë doesn’t act happy to see Steve, but he can see right away that she’s interested in the change in his appearance. She sniffs him for several long minutes to verify that it’s really him, and warily accepts him to pat her head. She seems pleased when he scratches her ears and seems to decide that he can be trusted.

“There’s a break in the trees over there,” Bucky says, pointing west. “We should probably find water. And food. Because I’m tired of eating stale bread.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he gets Aitë to start following him to the clearing. As they walk, Bucky’s mind goes to the kiss he shared with Steve just a hour or so before, and when he looks over at Steve, he seems to be deep in thought, as well.

Swallowing his fear, Bucky decides to take the plunge.

“We gonna talk about it?” Bucky asks.

“Talk about what?”

Bucky tilts his head sideways and gives Steve a Look. Steve flushes red and says, “Oh, that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, smiling. “ _That_.”

Steve shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “I mean — I mean, it’s. Uh, how do you—?”

Bucky decides to save him the breath and say, “Steve, I like you. I don’t kiss just anyone.” There. It’s out there. “I like you. A lot. I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too,” Steve whispers. But he looks down to the ground, his shoulders drooping. “I just… don’t know if it’s the best idea.”

“Why not?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Well, I mean, it’s — Bucky, we’re not exactly, like, the same class.”

Bucky stares at him. “Steve, if we’re both, like, in this together, I don’t see why not. Same class or not. If you want to be with me, too, that’s something I have to take seriously.” Very seriously. Bucky’s supposed to be getting married soon. He can’t spend months of his life with a person that’s not going to want to get married to him. That would be a waste of both of their times.

Steve shakes his head. “Bucky, I — listen. I want to be with you. But we just can’t, okay?”

“Why not?” Bucky asks, completely not understand what the fucking hold up is, here.

Steve looks completely and utterly pained as he says “Buck, you have to be king. That’s just… that’s how it is.” Like that’s supposed to explain everything.

“And what, you can’t be by my side?” Bucky asks.

Steve presses his lips into a severe line. “Royalty and paupers don’t mix well,” Steve growls angrily. “The world would think it’s strange that you’re… dating a commoner.”  

Bucky wants to fucking explode. “But there’s no rule against it, is there?” he says, stepping forward to take Steve’s hands. “It’s just tradition. It can be broken, you know.”

Steve almost fucking laughs. “But what about your mother? Would she approve?” The statement makes Bucky press his lips tightly together. That would be a ‘no,’ which Steve takes as such. “I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your family,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s chin in hand and tilting it upwards. “It’ll work itself out, okay? I’ll do anything in my power to not lose you. You’re important to me, Steve.”

“Buck, just listen to what I’m saying, okay?” Steve says, tears forming in his eyes. “Sometimes you just can’t have everything. Sometimes you have to choose.”

Seeing Steve upset makes his heart break. “Just listen to what _I’m_ saying, Steve,” he says softly. “Trust me when I say that I’ll fix it. I _will_ fix it. Got it?”

Tears form in Steve’s eyes without his permission. “Okay,” he says. He doesn’t agree, but that’s a conversation for a later time. He looks over the trees, sees that the sun is setting. “We ought to get out of this forest. Fly somewhere.”

“Where to?” Bucky asks, already making his way to Nyx.

Steve presses his lips together, a little smile forming. “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the dragon-name guide that no one asked for! They're all Greek (and one Roman) gods/titans.  
> Aitë (Steve) - goddess of mischief (usually spelled Atë, Até or Aite)  
> Nyx (Bucky) - goddess / personification of night.  
> Rhea (Winifred) - titan (titaness?) of motherhood, fertility.  
> Hyperion (Sam) - titan of light  
> Lelantos (Pierce) - titan of hunters  
> Iacchus (Brock) - god of wine, parties, madness (another spelling for Bacchus / Dionysus)  
> Aletheia (Peggy) - goddess /personification of truth and sincerity (not mentioned in the story but I gave her dragon a name anyway)
> 
> EDIT 7/2/2017:  
> Hey pals, I know the ending is a little awkward. I think I've mentioned that I want to expand the story a little bit, and that's not a lie! Feel free to subscribe to the story or my author profile so you can get updates on the series. I ran out of time writing this story and I actually posted AFTER my posting date, so you can probably tell that I was a little pressed for time and that my best attempt was made for the ending. If you don't like it, sorry! Just look at it more as a stepping-off point than as an actual ending.


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